Paper Men
by A. M. Brossart
Summary: All Evelyn Tozier wanted to do was make Derry High School a safer place for her kid brother. Well, somewhere between kissing Patrick Hockstetter and telling the principal to go f*** himself, things got a little off track.
1. Chapter 1

1

The Durseys were moving today.

Evelyn Tozier watched from her bedroom window as the young family of four hauled the last of their belongings into their blue station wagon. Little Myra stood beside the car the whole time, clutching a raggedy brown teddy bear against her chest, squeezing so hard its black button eyes looked about to burst from their sockets. One was already loose, Evelyn saw, dangling from a string the color of sand. Evelyn had never gotten around to fixing it. She had meant to—promised to—but then school-life got in the way. Evelyn was a sophomore now, after all, and fully devoted to her studies and extracurriculars. Between student council, honor society, yearbook club, babysitting, and tutoring (which she did after school on Tuesdays and Thursdays in the public library), the bear had completely slipped her mind; that is, until she saw it this very morning.

It was Evelyn's bear, an old hand-me-down that the teen had dug out of storage one stormy July afternoon while she was babysitting the Dursey kids. They were all excited to go to the park, but the rainstorm kept them trapped inside. It took all of ten minutes before the kids starting going stir-crazy, picking fights with each other and running around the house like a bunch of wild chickens (and chickens would have been easier to catch). Then Myra erupted into a massive temper tantrum because her little sister Gracie stole her favorite doll: a blonde-haired and blue-eyed Barbie, dressed glamorously in a sparkly purple evening gown with heels to match. The bear was only meant to be a temporary distraction, but Myra fell in love with it immediately, and Evelyn didn't have the heart to take it back. Now it seemed to be the only thing that brought the child comfort. The rest of her toys were stuffed in a cardboard box that was already halfway to Connecticut, where Mrs. Dursey's parents lived.

_All but one_, Evelyn realized, as a chill crept up her back. _They never did find that doll, did they?_

Mr. Dursey scooped Myra into his arms and carried her into the car. The oldest child was already in the backseat, sitting with his head hung real low. Steven Dursey hadn't spoken much since the incident; neither of the kids had.

Mr. Dursey called out to his wife, his voice booming with a desperate sense of urgency. He didn't need to call her again. The front door closed gustily, and Mrs. Dursey came flying down the stairs. Her face was a pale, hollow mask of its former self, covered in deep wrinkles and untreated blemishes. Before everything happened, Mrs. Dursey would have never been caught dead stepping outside her house without a full face of makeup. (_You should always look your best, Evie darling. You never know who you might run into._) This morning, the former Miss Derry didn't even bother to shower. She dashed across their once perfectly groomed lawn, completely ignoring the stone path her husband had laid by hand the summer before. Her slippered foot crushed two of her precious daffodils into the dirt. One sprang back up, withered and bent.

_(She's strong, my Gracie. That's how I know, Gary. That's how I know she's still alive.)_

Mrs. Dursey climbed into the car and slammed the door shut. Not once did she look back at the house they'd owned for ten years. Their pride and joy. It was a beautiful house, the kind of house you bragged about at neighborhood barbecues (the Durseys certainly did, on more than one occasion). In the spring, it looked like something out of a magazine: this perfect two-story colonial, painted white with blue shutters and a blue door, surrounded flowers of all colors and trees so lush they looked artificial. At Christmastime, the Durseys would string up the entire house with these fancy white lights that glistened like stars against the falling snow. They hadn't put up any lights last Christmas, though, not a single one. On November 28th, Mr. Dursey carried in the tree through the front door like he did every year, but the family never decorated it. Evelyn saw it during the memorial service, stuffed away in the corner of the living room, barren and forgotten.

(_If you're watching this—whoever you are—please, _please_, bring my baby home. Please, I'm begging you. She needs to be home with her family beside her Christmas tree._)

Across the street, the car engine suddenly revved with life. The blue station wagon pulled out of the driveway so fast it almost knocked over the Tozier's garbage cans. Then it made a screeching right turn and sped off down the road. The perfect house on 1072 East Summer Street seemed to watch them go, its windows dark and vacant, lonely almost. The sight of it gave Evelyn the shivers.

She closed her curtains and finished getting ready for school.

2

At seven o'clock, the Tozier house was still quiet. Mr. Tozier was at a dental conference in Boston, and Mrs. Tozier, a nurse, wouldn't be home until the kids were already gone, so Evelyn took it upon herself to make sure her little brother got up for school on time.

"Richie," she called, rapping her knuckles on the door. "Richie, time to get up!"

When he didn't respond, she opened the door and peered inside. The room was dark apart from the blue glow of the small TV that he kept on his desk. A large stack of VHS tapes towered to the left of it, leaning dangerously to one side. Evelyn couldn't help but sigh when she saw it. Richie had a habit of falling asleep with the TV on, for the sound more than anything. He just couldn't sleep in a quiet room. Never could, even when he was a baby. The silence always seemed to make him uncomfortable. Maybe that was why he talked so much.

Evelyn flicked the wall switch, filling the room with light. She would have gone inside if there had been a visible path, but her little brother didn't keep his room nearly as tidy as she did. Didn't see the importance of it. All his clothes were lying in a wrinkled heap on the floor, surrounded by comic books, old homework assignments, soda cans, and empty snack bags. Richie knew he wasn't supposed to have food in his room, but the little brat snuck it in anyway. One time, Mrs. Tozier found a plate of leftover pork chops under his bed. Turns out, Richie had forgotten all about it, until the ants showed up.

Evelyn shook her head. "Oh, Mom's gonna freak when she sees this. Richie, get up!"

The lump in the middle of the bed stirred and groaned; then a hand crawled out from under the covers and proudly flipped her the bird.

"Good morning to you, too." Evelyn smiled, unaffected. "Now get up or you'll be late for school." She left the light on as she went downstairs to make breakfast for the two of them.

By the time Richie finally dragged himself out of bed, the scrambled eggs on his plate had already gone cold. He stuffed them into his mouth regardless and then reached for two slices of toast. "So," he asked as he slathered his bread with peanut butter and far too much jelly, "what's got you so quiet?"

Evelyn lifted her head with a sudden jerk. "Huh? Oh, nothing." She went to stab herself another serving of eggs and heard only the quiet screech of metal on tempered glass. Her brother was staring quizzically at her from across the table. She set her fork aside and leaned back in her chair. "The Durseys moved today."

He shrugged. "So? They've been moving for weeks." He wiped some jelly off his chin. "Or did you not notice all the trucks coming and going?"

"You talk to Steve at all?" They were in the same grade, Evelyn remembered. They must have had at least one class together.

"No." His face scrunched up like she'd said something absurd. "Mom made me hang out with him a couple times, but it was too depressing. Whenever things got quiet, he would just start crying, like ugly crying. And we would all just stand there, pretending not to hear. It got too weird."

"Really, Richie?" she said, disappointed.

"What? What was I supposed to say? 'Hey, sorry your sister's dead. Wanna go play some Street Fighter?'"

"I dunno, Richie, maybe have some compassion! Hmm? Or is that too inconvenient for you? I mean, … I mean, … how would you feel?" For Evelyn, the thought alone was impossible to bear, so what came out of her brother's mouth next hurt more than she would ever admit.

"Well, right now I'd feel pretty fucking happy." Richie bit down on his lip as soon as the words came out. _Shit. _He hadn't meant that. His sister knew he hadn't meant that, but he apologized anyway, in his head at least. "Can I have some more orange juice?"

Evelyn pushed the pitcher across the table.

"Thanks." He sloshed some juice into his glass and took a long drink to get the bitter taste of regret out of his mouth. But it was still there when he was finished, clinging to his tongue like a thick, grimy, unyielding film. He wiped his wet lips with a napkin. "So what's in the box?"

Evelyn looked to her right. "The new class t-shirts. You wanna see?"

He cracked a smirk. "Not really, but you're gonna show me anyway."

Yeah, he was right about that. Evelyn was already out of her chair and pulling up the cardboard flaps. "I think we really outdid ourselves this time," she said, that naive cheerfulness returning to her voice. "I mean, last year's were pretty sweet [they were bright orange, psychedelic shirts that had the words 'Funky Freshman' on the front], but this design really takes the cake." With great care, she unfolded the shirt and displayed it proudly, like it was a patriotic flag and Richie was supposed to stand at attention and salute. It was sky blue with white lettering, one of the dorkiest shirts Richie had ever seen, with the lamest slogan on the front:

_WE PUT THE _**_MORE_ **_IN _**SOPHOMORE!**_  
__class of 1991 _

Richie pushed up his glasses, squinting to make sure he was reading it properly. "What does that even mean?" he asked, dumbfounded.

"What do you mean?" Evelyn looked herself, understanding the play on words right away. "It's ... It's a … Ugh, just forget it!" Her little brother didn't know what he was talking about. Mr. Burke said her slogan was super clever, so she had no doubt that the rest of the students would like it too.

Or maybe they would hate it.

Maybe they would laugh and throw them in her face like they had with last year's shirts.

Evelyn pushed that thought to the back of her mind as she stuffed the shirt back into the box and closed it. _No, not this year. I did a good job this year. Mr. Burke said so. _She slung her canvas backpack over her shoulder and grabbed the box with both hands. It was heavy, but she could manage it well enough. The bus stop wasn't far, just a little ways down the road at the corner of Palmer Lane and Jackson Street. If she hurried, she would make it on time. She started toward the front door. "Hey, I gotta go catch the bus. Mom left you some lunch money on the counter. Be sure to lock up before you leave, okay? I'll see you tonight." She closed the door with her foot and descended the porch steps.

There was a bright red "FOR SALE" sign sticking out of the Durseys' lawn. Evelyn paused in front of it for a moment, wondering how long it would take before another family moved in.

_Not long_, she decided grimly. _It's a real pretty house. _

3

Hannah-Beth Stokes was sitting in her usual seat—in the second to last row, right next to the window—when Evelyn Tozier boarded the bus. Hannah-Beth was a new student at Derry High School, a pastor's daughter who mostly kept to herself. She met Evelyn over the summer while she was roller-skating near Bassey Park. Evelyn had skates of her own and knew all the best routes, so the two became fast friends. Hannah-Beth was glad for that now. The rest of the students hadn't been so welcoming.

"You need help with that box, hun?" the bus driver said to Evelyn. "Dang thing's almost as big as you are." He had a phlegm-rattling laugh that broke into a violent cough. The old man hacked into the crook of his elbow a few times and then opened the window and spat out something nasty.

"You all right, Mr. Healy?" asked Evelyn, peeking out from over the top of the box.

"Right as rain, missy, and don't you think no different." He closed the bus door. "Now, take your seat."

Evelyn quickly and carefully maneuvered her way down the aisle, stepping over school bags and instrument cases. A small considerate few were nice enough to move their stuff out of the way and apologize when they saw her coming, but most simply ignored her as they chatted away with their seat-mates and scrambled to finish late homework assignments.

Hannah-Beth smiled as Evelyn drew near. It was a shy smile, tight and close-lipped to hide the chip in her front tooth. "But don't you worry, sweetie," her mother had assured her, "we'll have that tooth fixed up in no time." Mr. Tozier was a very respected dentist after all, and sure to give his daughter's new friend a generous discount. Her mother was certain of that. "I mean, it would be unkind not to."

But there was nothing unkind about Evelyn Tozier. She was the sort of person who whole-heartedly believed that she could make friends with anybody if she put in enough time and effort. ("A Stranger is Just a Friend You Haven't Met Yet" was one of the many slogans she'd plastered all over the school walls.) For most people it worked, as the girl was rather well-liked by the majority of her classmates and teachers, but for a very small subset of the student body (a strange subset in Hannah-Beth's eyes), the girl was—to put it gently, because to put it any other way would leave her poor friend devastated—a bit of a pill.

Kristie Andrews (who now preferred to be called "Kriss") was of that subset. As Derry's only goth kid, Kriss considered it fashionable to hate everyone, but Evelyn especially rubbed her the wrong way, with her pastel-colored outfits and that annoyingly persistent, can-do attitude. Of course, none of that mattered to Evelyn. Every single day since the first day of their freshman year, she went out of her way to talk to Kriss and sometimes, if she was feeling particularly bold, compliment her. It never went well, Hannah-Beth had been told, but Evelyn kept at it day after day after day.

This morning, she was making another attempt. Hannah-Beth watched nervously, certain it would end in disaster.

"Hey, Kriss," Evelyn said, "your makeup looks nice today."

Kriss, her pale lids painted with a bold cat-eye, didn't even look up as she hissed, "Eat shit, Tozier!"

Hannah-Beth cringed at the interaction, and she couldn't for the life of her understand why Evelyn was smiling as she slid into the seat next to her. Luckily, she didn't have to ask. Evelyn Tozier was an open book.

"Last year," she said, "Kriss would always tell me to fuck off. This year, I'm only eating shit. I dunno about you, but I call that progress." She set the box down at her feet. _Thump. _And she turned toward Hannah-Beth, smiling that perfect smile that went all the way up to her eyes. "So how are you doing?"

Hannah-Beth sat up, suddenly very aware of her posture. "Good. I'm good." Her fingers fumbled with the cover of her paperback novel, bending the upper-right corner upwards.

Evelyn glanced down and saw what she was doing. "New book, huh?" She leaned over to get a better look. There was a man on the cover, bare-chested and muscled like a lonely housewife's fantasy. "What'cha reading?"

"Nuh-Nothing!" Hannah-Beth flipped the book over, hiding the cover from her friend. "Just something for English class." She scooted away, huddling against the window. The bus driver took a left onto Center Street, where small mom-and-pop stores were opening their doors for business. Mr. Keene, the local pharmacist, was crossing over from Court Street, a ring of keys jingling at his side.

"Hey." Evelyn gently bumped Hannah-Beth's shoulder with hers. "You don't have to hide your trashy romance novels from me. I already know you read them during class. Hide them in your textbook so you don't get caught." She chuckled a little to herself. "Don't worry, your secret's safe with me. Everyone else just thinks you're a super nerd."

Hannah-Beth smiled sheepishly, her cheeks cooling down to a light pink. "My parents won't let me date until I'm thirty." It sounded like a joke, but it wasn't. "This is the only action I'll be getting until then."

Their laughter rang together effortlessly. "Yeah, my parents won't let me date either," Evelyn said. "Not that it matters much. Nobody asks me out anyway." Except for that one time back in the eighth grade, but Evelyn didn't like to think about that. It only made her sad. She sat waiting in Nancy's Cafe until her soda went flat. Only then did she realize that she had been stood up. She spent the rest of the night in her room, crying into her pillow. "Maybe I should borrow one of those books from you."

Evelyn had only meant it as a joke, but Hannah-Beth perked up right away. "You want one? I have plenty."

"Oh?" said Evelyn, taken aback. "Yeah, sure. Maybe."

The bus driver took another left, this time onto Pasture Road. Derry High School was at the end of this road, nestled between Bassey Park and the new athletic complex. Hannah-Beth sat up a little in her seat. She had heard rumors about Bassey Park: that people went there to drink and get high, that students sometimes skipped class and snuck out there to make-out under the trees and do … other things, the kinds of dirty things Hannah-Beth only read about. Her face flushed at the thought, and her imagination went wild.

Then there was the Kissing Bridge, a covered footbridge where couples carved their initials into the worn-out planks. By the summer's end, Hannah-Beth had read every inch of it: every crooked heart, every cheesy declaration of love. That's how she found the other messages—the lewd ones that made her squirm a little. Those were the ones she re-read over and over, wondering how many were true and how many were made-up. Then, before she would leave, she would always be tempted to write a message of her own, just to prove that she wasn't as innocent as everyone believed. If people saw her name on the Kissing Bridge, they wouldn't call her "Virgin Mary" or "Sister Christian" anymore.

Of course, the fear of getting caught always stopped her in her tracks. Then she would scurry away before anyone saw her. _Next time_, she would always think. _Next time I'll do it for real. _

Sighing, Hannah-Beth stood up with the rest of the students, their morning chatter falling into a depressed silence as they shuffled off the bus one by one (except for one kid, who was still passed out in his seat). Evelyn alone seemed to be immune to the Monday morning blues. As soon as her feet touched the sidewalk, her eyes came alive with determination, sparkling like small pools of gold in the early morning sun.

The look she gave Hannah-Beth sent shivers down her spine.

"Let's sell some shirts."


	2. Chapter 2

1

They had the folding table set up in front of the school's main entrance, right next to the flagpole. Evelyn had always liked that spot. It filled her with a greater sense of pride and purpose, and made everything feel more democratic.

Student council members Paul Colborne and Lenny Arkins were slouched in two of the chairs, looking bored and miserable. Lenny had his neon snapback pulled down over his eyes as he attempted to recover a few precious minutes of the sleep he had surrendered to Evelyn Tozier's latest fundraising campaign. Paul was seriously considering going home sick. He looked around the empty schoolyard, weighing the risk.

"It's way too early for this," he grumbled as he swatted away a buzzing bumblebee. Class didn't start for another forty-five minutes, but Evelyn insisted they show up early to set up everything. _Everything, _he thought, scoffing. It took them less than ten minutes to set up _everything_, and it only took that long because Mr. Marsh couldn't find the keys to the storage room where the folding table and chairs were kept.

"Wait, do you think we did enough?" Paul asked, suddenly worried.

Lenny shrugged. "Probably not." Knowing Evelyn, she was expecting balloons and a giant glitter banner. A single piece of paper taped to a rusty folding table probably wasn't going to cut it. "But it's too late now. I'm all outta notebook paper."

Paul squeezed his head with his hands. "Shit!" Evelyn was going to freak out when she saw their half-assed display and surely blame Paul for everything. _You're the vice president! You're supposed to support me, not sabotage me! _Even in his head, her voice was shrill and accusing. He just couldn't deal with that on a Monday of all days. "Nope," he said, staggering to his feet. "Nope, I'm not doing this. I gotta go, I gotta go. I can't be here. Tell her I'm sick. Tell her I died. I don't care." He ducked under the table and dragged his backpack out of the grass.

Lenny flicked up his visor. "The bus is here."

"What?" Was it eight o'clock already? Paul came up too fast and slammed his head on the underside of the table. _Thwack! _He sank to his knees, groaning, and stayed there as a parade of shoes went by: sneakers, boots, sandals, loafers. Then he saw their tiny poster slowly float to the ground, a single piece of clear tape flapping in the breeze. _Jeez Louise_, _Paul, you couldn't even properly tape up a poster. _

A pair of black Mary Janes stopped in front of him. "Hey, guys," he heard Evelyn say pleasantly. "Did you just get here?"

"Nope," Lenny said.

"Oh …" Her voice sank with disappointment. "Well, where's the poster I asked you to make?"

That was his cue. Paul reached over and snatched the piece of paper off the ground. "It's here, Evelyn." He held it up for her to take.

"Paul, what are you doing down there?" She grabbed the piece of paper, and then there was a moment of silence as she read it over. Paul used that time to get up and settle back into his chair. The new girl, Hannah-Beth, was standing nearby, clutching her pink trapper keeper against her chest. He gave her a quick wave of acknowledgment, and she smiled back.

Evelyn wasn't smiling. She looked mortified. "Guys, I asked you to make a poster. This is a piece of notebook paper with 'Shirts for Sale' scribbled in pen." She flipped the paper over, as if she would find something better hiding on the other side. "What the hell? You had all weekend to work on this."

"I'm sorry," Paul said, "I totally forgot."

Lenny was far less apologetic. "I just didn't care."

Now, Evelyn looked like she was about to cry. "The whole point of the poster was to draw attention to us. From far away, you can't even read this. Hell, up close I can barely read it. And in black pen, seriously? You couldn't even bother to grab a marker? The school is twenty feet away!"

Paul nodded. "It sounds worse when you put it that way. But, hey, you know what? Four kids sitting at a table is bound to draw plenty of attention all by itself. So do we really need a poster? Do we?"

"Yes, Paul, we need the poster. Now go to the office and grab me some poster paper before I flip this table over."

Paul winced. "But they're fifty cents apiece—"

Evelyn crushed the paper in her fist and roared, "Go, Paul!"

That was all it took. Paul jumped out of his chair and bolted up the school steps two at a time. Lenny watched him go, then leaned back in his chair and yanked his hat back down while the girls got to work.

High above them, the flag billowed and collapsed, billowed and collapsed in the early autumn breeze.

By the time Paul returned with the fifty-cent poster, Evelyn and Hannah-Beth had the shirts perfectly arranged for display. Then Evelyn quickly wrote up a bold, brand new sign with markers from her backpack and securely taped it to the edge of the table. It certainly wasn't her best work, but in a pinch it would do quite nicely.

Evelyn clapped her hands together in satisfaction. "Okay, now we're open for business." And she took her usual seat at the table (center-left, with her vice president to her right) and waited patiently for the first student to approach.

And she waited.

And she waited.

And she straightened each pile of shirts, one by one.

And then she waited some more.

2

"Come on, guys!" Evelyn shouted. "Support your sophomore student council!"

A group of students stopped. "We have a sophomore student council?" one girl asked.

"Yes. Us." Evelyn made a wide gesture with her hands. "We're the sophomore student council."

The girl made a face like she didn't understand. "Well, I don't remember voting for you." And then they walked away.

Evelyn fell against her backrest, dejected. In their first ten minutes of business, they hadn't sold a single shirt. Some kids looked them over, and some even complimented them, but as soon as they found out they weren't free, they dropped them and moved on.

"Maybe we should just start giving them away," Paul suggested, anxious to pack up and call it a day before the first warning bell rang.

"That totally defeats the purpose of a fundraiser."

"Well, nobody wants to buy t-shirts. We should have just organized a dance like everyone else. Dances always sell. Teenagers can't get enough of 'em."

"The senior class sold out of all their t-shirts in a day. People love t-shirts."

"No, seniors love t-shirts. Why? Because of the nostalgia factor. They're graduating at the end of the year. We're not."

Hannah-Beth looked over at them timidly. "I like the shirts. They're cute."

Evelyn smiled. "Thank you, Hannah." She nudged her vice president with her elbow. "See that, Paul? Positivity, that's what we need. Now let's finish strong."

The next wave of students was coming: on foot, on bikes, or in their parents' cars. Evelyn saw one of the new kids, a chubby seventh-grader called Ben something-or-other, peddling toward the west entrance with a pair of headphones hanging around his neck. Elizabeth Mueller was there too, along with her little sister, Sally. They climbed out of her white 1986 Honda Accord and crossed the street together, carrying their books in their arms instead of in schoolbags because, apparently, that was the cool thing to do now.

Paul's jaw dropped when he saw Elizabeth Mueller. "Is she allowed to wear a skirt that short? I'm pretty sure that goes against the dress code."

"Who cares?" Lenny said, now awake and alert. Leaning forward, the two boys followed her with their eyes as she slowly walked across the lawn in her pleated mini skirt and baggy varsity sweater. For a second, the wind caught her blonde hair perfectly, sending it blowing gently across her face. "Is it just me, or do her legs get longer and longer every year?"

Evelyn shot him a disgusted look. "It's just you."

"Shit, guys, she's coming this way!"

"Be cool! Be cool!"

Elizabeth and Sally stopped in front of the table. "Oh my god, how cute are these?" Elizabeth squealed, grabbing a shirt off the pile. She held it up against her chest, beaming like she'd just found the biggest steal of the century. "Sal, look at this. Isn't it adorable?"

Her sister gave a disinterested shrug.

"God, I wish we had something like this when I was a sophomore. I would have worn it, like, every day. I'm not even kidding." She turned around to face the four student council members. The boys were a pair of blushing, babbling fools, but Elizabeth paid little attention to them. Her eyes went straight to Evelyn. "You're … Evelyn, right? You designed these?"

Evelyn jumped a little. "Yuh-Yes!" she said, surprised that a senior girl actually knew her name. "I was inspired by the senior class shirts, actually. They're just so cool."

Elizabeth laughed. "Well, I think yours is a bit more clever. I mean, how much creativity does it really take to throw 'Seniors: We're Number One!' on a t-shirt?" She rolled her eyes. "Pretty sure Jackie just ripped off last year's design anyway. So give yourself more credit." Then she reached into her black satchel handbag and pulled out a small pink wallet. "So how much?"

Evelyn's eyes widened. "You … want to buy one?"

"Sure do! How much?"

"Three dollars …?"

Elizabeth nodded. "Sounds fair to me." And she pulled out the money and handed it over. The bills were perfectly crisp and smelled just like her floral perfume.

"Oh, wait," Evelyn said, "you accidentally gave us a ten." It must have been wedged between two of the ones. She tried to give it back, but Elizabeth refused it for some reason.

"Consider it a donation from one former president to another." Smiling, Elizabeth closed her wallet and tossed it back into her purse. "I was in student council my freshman year. _Just_ my freshman year. It was practically torture."

Sally gave a frustrated huff. "This is practically torture. Can we go now?"

Elizabeth waved her off. "Yeah, yeah, we'll go. Anyway, thanks for the shirt. Good luck selling the rest." She threw the group of them a playful wink and then strolled off with her new shirt draped over her arm.

Paul's jaw was practically touching the table. "My god …"

"She's an angel," Lenny finished for him.

"An angel sent down from the senior class."

Evelyn wasn't listening to them. She was too busy fingering through the small stack of bills. _One, two, three—thirteen dollars!_ A strange feeling of validation came over her, one that made her feel warm and fuzzy all over. _I knew it! I knew these shirts were cool. I mean, if Elizabeth Mueller likes them, they have to be cool, right? She's the coolest girl in school. _She wanted to take this wad of cash and shove it in her brother's face. _Ha! Take that, Richie!_

Instead, she passed the money over to Lenny, and he sealed it away in the red pouch.

3

It was 8:20 now according to Paul's wristwatch, and they had sold one shirt. Only one. But from the smile on Evelyn's face, you would have thought they'd sold twenty.

Her little brother was making his way to school around this time, along with his best friends Eddie Kaspbrak, Stan Uris, and Bill Denbrough. Evelyn liked his friends well enough. They all mostly kept to themselves, hanging out at the arcade or in the Barrens, doing weird boy things like spitting and jumping off stuff. Most importantly they kept Richie occupied, which meant he had less time to pester her and her friends.

Except for today, that is. After all, how could Richie resist embarrassing his sister and rubbing her failure in her face? That's what little brothers are for.

Suddenly, the four boys had crowded around her table, putting their hands all over her shirts and messing up her neatly folded piles.

"Wow, look at this display!" Richie said with a cheeky grin. "So many shirts! Stan, look at all these shirts!"

Stan was too busy glaring at the one in his hands. "The text isn't centered."

"What?" Evelyn said. Leave it to Stan to focus on the smallest, most insignificant detail. "I'm sure it's fine, Stan." She looked at her brother. "Hey, Richie, don't you have better things to do?"

"I have a million better things to do."

"Then pick one and go do it."

To the left of her, Eddie was searching around for a label. "Are these 100% cotton?"

"I honestly don't know, Eddie—Stan, please stop staring at the shirt. We get it, it's not perfectly centered, but it's too late to change it now, okay? Please, just put it down—Richie, would you quit doing that? Stop, you're gonna stretch it out! "

Bill was folding his back up, trying to put it just as it was before. "I think they're nuh-nuh-nuh-nice, Ev-Evelyn."

Evelyn smiled at him. "Thank you, Bill."

"Polyester makes me break out in hives," said Eddie.

That made Richie smirk. "Pretty sure you just have syphilis."

"Oh, yeah, Richie? Well, then I must have gotten it from your sist—" Eddie stopped, choking his words. "—err, never mind." He dropped the shirt on the table and took a quick suck from his inhaler before stepping back.

Richie pretended to be offended. "Are you saying my sister has syphilis?"

Evelyn wanted to sink under the table and disappear. "Please, stop saying syphilis. People are starting to stare."

"What? I'm defending your honor. Do you want the whole school thinking you have syphilis?"

"Oh my god, Richie, would you stop saying that word?" She threw her hands over her head and let out a frustrated moan. What was it going to take to get them to leave?

A blue Trans Am pulling up to the school, that's what. As soon as the boys caught sight of it, they scattered like fish evading a hungry shark. "See ya, sis!" Richie shouted over his shoulder, leaving her to fend for herself against Derry's biggest bullies.

"Bowers," Paul said, groaning. "Of all the days for him to actually go to class." He leaned over and began gathering his things. "Well, I think it's time to call it a day, folks."

For once, Evelyn agreed with him. She looked over at her treasurer. "Lenny, take the money and go." Henry Bowers wasn't about to stuff his pockets with all their hard-earned money, not this year.

The car door opened, and Belch Huggins stepped out of the driver's side.

"Lenny, go now!"

Coins jingled as Lenny Arkins tossed the red money bag into his backpack. "Later, guys."

All three of them were out of the car now: Henry Bowers in the middle with his hands buried in the pockets of his distressed denim jacket, while his grunts, Belch Huggins and Vic Criss, followed on either side of him. They crossed the street without looking, as if that somehow made them seem more intimidating, and when a concerned parent criticized them for it, Vic Criss silently gave her the finger while Belch laughed.

Evelyn was trying to pack up all the shirts as quickly as possible. Hannah-Beth and Paul were helping, but even with three people, they weren't going fast enough.

_Please don't come over_, she silently begged._ Please don't come over. Just keep walking._

They had just gotten to the last pile when she heard Henry Bowers's voice behind her: "Why the hurry, Tozier?"

_Shit._

His shoulder brushed against hers as he circled around, knocking her off balance a little.

Evelyn kept her head down, refusing to look at him. "Class is gonna start soon. I don't wanna be late." She reached for the last stack of shirts, but one of the boys snatched it away.

"Well, what do we have here?" said Belch, a vicious grin plastered on his face. He ripped the top shirt free and threw the rest to Vic. Evelyn's eyes followed, widening in horror as her precious shirts got all wrinkled in the teen's hands. "What's that say, Vic? 'We Put the More in Sophomore.' Awwww …"

"Oh, that's real cute, Tozier."

"Adorable."

For a second, Evelyn thought of Elizabeth Mueller and her thirteen dollars. She'd called her shirts adorable too, and Evelyn thought that was the best compliment she'd ever received. Funny, that word sounded so disgusting coming from these boys now. Almost dirty.

The two boys continued to laugh and mock her while Henry Bowers watched, smirking. "Why were you trying to hide these?" he asked, slowly coming closer, so close that Evelyn could smell the faint cigarette smoke on his jacket. "Huh? We're sophomores too, aren't we? Or don't we count?"

"You want one?" Evelyn said in an almost taunting sort of way. "They're three dollars."

Paul shot her a panicked look. "What the hell are you doing?" he whispered.

Evelyn didn't know, but it was too late to go back now.

"Three dollars?" Henry's face twisted into a crooked smile, blue eyes coming alive; then he turned to Belch. "Hold out that shirt."

Belch did as he commanded, and Evelyn watched, confused, as Henry walked over to him. "Three dollars, she says." He pulled out something small from his pocket. It shimmered a little when the sunlight caught it just right, like a skinny bar of pure silver. He held it up against her shirt and looked right at her. "Well, how about now?"

When his finger flicked the switch on the side, it turned into something ugly and dangerous. It bit into the blue fabric, tearing with its steel teeth, ripping, shredding, destroying the shirt Evelyn had spent weeks designing, making sure every detail was perfect. _And it was perfect. Mr. Burke said so. Elizabeth Mueller said so. I did a good job this year. _

Now her perfect shirt was in pieces, hanging lifelessly in the air. Evelyn felt her fist clench in anger. "Three dollars," she muttered so quietly no one could hear her.

Henry stepped toward her, the knife still clutched at his side. "What was that, Tozier?"

"Three dollars," she said louder, eying the knife carefully. He wouldn't use it, not at school. He wasn't that dumb.

"What?"

"Three dollars, Henry!" she yelled. "You ruined the shirt. I can't sell it now. So you owe me three dollars." She thrust out her hand. "Now pay up."

Her stubborn resistance earned more laughter from Vic and Belch. Henry shot them a weird look, as if he thought for just a moment that they were laughing at _him_. Then he got downright furious. His nostrils flared up, and his jaw got real tight. Evelyn backed away. She knew that face well. It was the face he always had when things were about to get real, real bad. She'd seen it directed at her once before, back when they were just little kids on the playground, right before he pushed her to the ground and spit on her.

_"Mind your own fuckin' business!" _

Evelyn closed her eyes, remembering for half a moment, and then she felt something land on her hand. It was warm and wet. Evelyn opened her eyes and saw the glob of spit pooling in her open palm. Almost instantly, she was back on that playground, lying on her back, confused and terrified of the screaming boy with the yellow bandaid on his cheek. _I guess some things never change. _Evelyn nearly laughed at the absurdity of it.

But then she heard Hannah-Beth gasp.

"Hey!" she cried, stumbling forward and reaching out with empty hands. "Hey, give that back!"

Belch had taken the box from her—all sixty shirts—and he was walking away with it.

_Wait. No. Stop. _

"Oh, come on, guys!" Paul shouted. "Come on, give them back! They're just stupid shirts. Nobody wants them, trust me! Hell, _we_ can't even sell them!"

_I can sell them. I sold one. Elizabeth Mueller thought they were cute. _

Evelyn watched in stunned silence as Henry Bowers backed away from her, smirking. "See you around, Tozier. And don't worry about your shirts. We'll take care of 'em for you."

"Oh yeah, we'll take real good care of 'em," said Vic.

They disappeared around the corner, their cruel laughter mixing together with the brassy ring of the first warning bell. The schoolyard was quiet now apart from the grunts of a few straggling students. So quiet that Hannah-Beth could hear Evelyn's whisper-quiet puffs of panicked breath.

"Did you see that?" Paul said to Hannah-Beth. "Dude had a knife. Who the fuck gave that kid a knife?"


	3. Chapter 3

1

"Don't worry, Evie," Paul had said before they parted ways, "we'll get your shirts back, I promise." He put his hand on her shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "Just try to stay positive, all right? It'll all work out. Anyways, I gotta go. I'll see you in third period, okay?" He threw her a wave and headed off to his homeroom class.

Evelyn watched him go. All around her, students came and went in a hurry, but Evelyn didn't move at all. _It'll all work out. He says that, but he doesn't believe it either. _

Sighing, Evelyn sank into her chair just as the final warning bell sounded. A few more students came pouring in after her, their worried expressions fading once they realized no teacher was waiting to count them tardy. Scott Kellerman seemed especially grateful.

"Whoa, no detention for me today," he said with a laugh. "Righteous." Then he kicked his skateboard into his hand and made his way to his seat in the back of the room.

He stopped abruptly in front of Evelyn's desk in the second row. "Dude, my condolences."

Evelyn looked up at him, confused. "Huh? Did someone die?"

"No, I heard Henry Bowers jacked your shirts. Tough break, Tozier."

"Oh ... Yeah, it sucks."

He nodded. "Totally. I heard they were pretty sweet, too. You know, if you ever get them back, I'd love to buy a couple." He tugged on his yellow hot dog shirt. "I'm always in the market for new shirts."

"Right. Thanks, Skelly." She felt a little weird calling him by that nickname (which came out of nowhere one day and just kind of stuck), but it always seemed to make him smile when he heard it.

Skelly continued down the aisle with his usual bouncy, energetic gait, earning amused glances and quiet giggles from the students around him, and right before sitting down, he gave Denny Booker a high-five that sounded like it hurt. "Happy Monday, everybody!"

April Nilsen and Stephanie Price were the last to casually stroll into the classroom. They liked to take their sweet time in the bathroom, touching up their makeup and poofing out their hair with enough hairspray to single-handedly destroy the ozone layer.

"Late," Skelly said, shaming them with his finger. "You're both late. Go get your tardy passes."

April rolled her eyes. "Eat me, Skelly."

The girls took their seats on either side of Evelyn, who was silently waiting for class to start. Most days, the two never said a word to her. In fact, their only interaction came when one of them would whisper, "Can you move your head?" so they could continue their conversation. During the first week of school, Evelyn had offered to switch seats, but Mrs. Sitz said the seating arrangement was set in stone. "You girls are together all day. Surely forty-five minutes apart won't kill you."

No, it hadn't killed them yet, but it was quite frustrating having to listen to them gossip and gab all period. Eventually, Evelyn learned to tune them out. In fact, she was tuning them out right now.

"Hey!" Steph whispered. "Hey, you!" She nudged Evelyn on the arm to get her attention. Once she had it, the girl put on a smug smile, like she was doing Evelyn some great honor by talking to her. "So we heard about what happened this morning. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks." Evelyn glanced over her shoulder and saw April listening intently, her chin propped neatly upon her hand. Her fingernails were painted a glossy aqua to match the scrunchie in her hair.

Steph called her back with a snap of her fingers. "Well," she went on, "we sure hope you washed your hands after."

Evelyn wondered what exactly she was implying.

April Nilsen was less subtle. "It'd probably be safer to cut it off." She made a slicing motion with her hand, lopping off her wrist with an imaginary blade. "God knows what you'll catch from that kid."

Henry Bowers, he was "that kid."

"Seriously, he's always so dirty. Like, do you own any clean clothes?"

"He lives on a farm," Evelyn said, cutting them off. "Most of the time he's stuck doing chores before school."

Steph Price scrunched up her face in an ugly way. "So ...?"

"So that's why his clothes are a little dirty," Evelyn said, getting visibly annoyed. "Yours would be too—you know, if you ever had to do actual physical labor."

Steph hadn't liked that; Evelyn could see it written all over her face as she pulled away, her bright pink lips fixed in a nasty sneer. "You know, I heard they tossed those ugly shirts in the dumpster behind the school." Her right eyebrow arched in disdain. April Nilsen was snickering like a horse. "I hope they did, because that's exactly where they belong."

The girls turned back around just as Mrs. Sitz entered the classroom. "Sorry I'm late, class," she said, dropping an armful of ungraded papers onto her desk. "Faculty meeting ran a little late."

Skelly raised his hand. "Do you have a tardy pass, Mrs. Sitz?"

The whole class laughed.

"Very funny, Mr. Kellerman," Mrs. Sitz replied, fighting a smile. She adjusted her glasses so they sat more comfortably on her pudgy nose. "All right, if there are no more jokes, how about we go ahead and get started, hmm?" She grabbed the clipboard off the desk. "Evelyn, would you like to take attendance?"

"Sure." Evelyn went to the front of the room and took the attendance chart from the teacher. "Okay, umm, Denny Booker?"

He raised his hand only half the way. "Here."

Evelyn put a checkmark next to his name. "Micky Coughlan?"

"Here!"

"Colin Creswell?"

"Yeah, I'm here."

"Anna Elworthy?"

"Here."

Name by name, Evelyn worked her way down the list, making all the necessary marks. It was tedious work, requiring very little thought or effort. By now, Evelyn practically knew the class roster by heart; she could tell who was present and who was absent from a single glance around the classroom. Lately, there was always one empty desk: the one all the way back in the far left corner. It had been empty for the last three weeks and would remain empty for another two. The student had been suspended at the beginning of the school year for starting a fire in the library. The reason? Boredom, apparently. Evelyn didn't even have to say the name aloud anymore (no other student ever did), but for some reason, she always paused for a second when saw his name on the attendance sheet.

Hilary Garnham ✓

Christie Gibson ✓

Jeannette Gough ✓

Ashton Griphin ✗

Jared Hellyer ✓

Patrick Hockstetter

She whispered the name to herself and made two tiny slashes with her pen; then it was on to the next name.

"Okay, so for lunch today, the school is serving beef stroganoff with boiled carrots. Students are once again reminded not to throw their utensils in the trash bins. Please be considerate when disposing of your trays. All FBLA members are to report to Room 203 during lunch for a mandatory meeting. If you absolutely cannot attend, please speak to Mr. Larsen prior to the meeting. Lastly, um, the yearbook club—"

A soft click filled the quiet room. The whole class seemed to look up in unison as the door swung open and Patrick Hockstetter entered the classroom.

2

"Holy shit," someone whispered.

"I thought he wasn't allowed back for another two weeks."

"Guess not."

Patrick drank in their comments with an amused smile. Everything was a joke to him. Life was a game that only he knew the rules to, and most people didn't even realize they were playing it.

After twelve years, the students and teachers of Derry had stopped trying to figure out Patrick Hockstetter; they merely accepted that he was ... undefinable. His former art teacher had once compared him to a large lump of brown clay: able to be mushed and molded into many pleasing and desirable shapes but lacking any real form of its own.

In his younger years, the boy was described by his teachers as a quiet and apathetic child. The school held him back a year due to poor attendance, but he was by all other accounts a "straight kid," easily lost in the shuffle with students like Henry Bowers acting out violently and stealing all the attention. He was so forgettable, in fact, that Evelyn didn't even realize they had been schoolmates until she stumbled across some old photos of him in the elementary school hallway. He looked the same in every single one: small, a little pudgy, with black hair and a cold, empty stare that seemed to follow Evelyn as she walked past.

Maybe, she thought, all those rumors about him were true.

In the second grade, Sasha Gunt caused a huge ruckus when she suddenly jumped out of her chair during science class, screaming at the top of her lungs. Her seat-mate had shown her something in his pencil case, and it left her trembling and terrified. The teacher forced Patrick to hand over the case, and he was shocked to find it filled with dozens of dead flies. He brought this to the school counselor, who dismissed it right away as a coping mechanism: strange but ultimately harmless. They had gone easy on him that year because his baby brother had recently died in a tragic case of crib death. "It's only natural for him to be a little curious about death."

His curiosity only grew as he got older. A bunch of neighborhood pets went missing over the summer of '86. He was never able to prove it, but Denny Booker once claimed he saw Patrick walking around with a large black trash bag—and something inside it was _moving_. He ran home and told his parents, but they said he was probably just seeing things. A month later, all the pets stopped disappearing, and everything went back to normal, but Denny Booker never looked at Patrick the same way again. Even now he seemed visibly uncomfortable and would later ask to be excused from class. Said he was coming down with the flu or something. He practically ran to the nurse's office after Mrs. Sitz gave him his hall pass.

When school started up again in the fall, Patrick just kind of vanished. His parents pulled him out of school mysteriously and kept him out for the whole year. Nobody knew why, and, frankly, everyone was a little scared to ask. When he finally came back, he was in Evelyn's freshman class and hanging out with Henry Bowers and his group. It was weird, but then again, everything about Patrick Hockstetter was a little weird.

So nobody was shocked when they heard Patrick had set fire to the library. If anything, they were surprised the crazy bastard hadn't burned down the whole school.

They just never expected him back this early.

Evelyn felt the clipboard slip out of her hands and heard it clatter to the floor, but when she bent down to pick it up, she saw a second hand reaching for it. Evelyn knew instantly whose it was. It was large and pale, with long, skinny fingers and dried out cuticles that were cracked and looked picked at. (He did pick at them occasionally, Evelyn remembered, when he was bored.) Wrapped loosely around his wrist was an assortment of knotted leather bands and thick metal chains that made a rattling sound when they brushed against the floor. They jangled together quietly as he slowly lifted the clipboard.

Evelyn lifted her gaze, too, and saw a pair of playful grey-green eyes staring back at her. "Here ya go," Patrick said, the shadow of a smile on his lips.

Evelyn's breath hitched in her throat. "Thanks."

She took the clipboard and quickly climbed to her feet. Patrick was on his feet too, casually walking toward his desk. He stopped when he heard his name being called and did a half-turn.

Mrs. Sitz was up from her chair. "Do you have a late pass, Mr. Hockstetter?"

He reached into his jean pockets and turned them inside out. "No," he said, grinning from ear to ear, "I don't." Then he plopped into his desk and got comfortable, stretching out his long, long legs. The boy next to him scooted away a little.

"And I trust you don't have any contraband on you today?"

"Nope. You wanna give me a pat-down?" The principal already had when he came into school. Mrs. Sitz was sure to have a much gentler touch.

Mrs. Sitz's expression was anything but gentle. "That won't be necessary, but perhaps you'd like to apologize to Miss Tozier for so rudely interrupting this morning's announcements."

"Sure," he said uncaringly. "Sorry, sweetheart."

If he was looking at her, Evelyn didn't know it. She kept her eyes glued to the floor, wanting nothing more than to return to her seat.

She felt Mrs. Sitz's hand on her shoulder. "Please continue, Evelyn."

She nodded. "Umm ... The, uh, the yearbook club is looking for new members, so if anyone's interested, please come to one of our meetings. We hold them every other Wednesday after school in Room 113."

"Thank you, Evelyn."

She dropped the chart off and went back to her desk.

The rest of the period was an open study hall, where students were free to read, finish homework, or quietly visit with the other students. Mrs. Sitz sat her desk the whole time, head bent over a stack of papers while her right hand scribbled away with a red pen. Every once in a while she would look up to make sure nobody was misbehaving.

"Mr. Weller, Miss Gibson, I hope you're not doing what I think you're doing."

Christie Gibson slammed her notebook shut and Nathan Weller pretended to be looking elsewhere.

"Mhm." Mrs. Sitz shook her head and went back to her grading.

Evelyn was getting a jump on this week's reading for her fifth-period biology class. She liked to read ahead and jot down any notes or questions that came to her mind. That way, she could go into class fully prepared to participate in the discussion. The other students didn't like it much, especially when it was always her hand going up during the lecture, but Evelyn didn't really care. She wanted to get the most out of her education.

But it was so hard to focus when she could feel eyes burning into the back of her head. She looked over her shoulder once and instantly regretted it because there was Patrick Hockstetter, sitting without a single book on his desk, doing absolutely nothing except staring at her.

Evelyn whipped back around and buried her head in her textbook.

3

The end of the period came as a huge relief to Evelyn. As soon as the clock struck 9:15, she gathered her things and rushed to the door, hoping to make it out before everyone else. But she wasn't fast enough, not by a long shot. The mob was already ahead of her, jamming up the only exit.

She felt Patrick behind her the whole time, but he didn't say anything, not until they were in the hallway. That's when he suddenly came up beside her, walking so close his arm kept brushing against her shoulder.

"Hey," he said, "I've seen you before. Where have I seen you?"

She put some distance between them. "Uhh, school? We've been going to the same school for years, Patrick."

He shook his head. "No, that's not it."

"Then I dunno. Sorry." Evelyn picked up her pace, trying to lose him. For a moment, she actually thought she had. She went to her locker and started fiddling around with the combination lock when she heard a loud slam beside her. Patrick had thrown himself into the lockers.

"I remember now!" he said. "You were in that bullying video they showed us in gym class last year."

"Oh. Yeah, I was." All the student council members had played a part in producing it, but Evelyn's role in the video had been insignificant, reduced to a mere five seconds of screentime. How could anybody remember that? She assumed he was just messing with her.

Patrick moved out of the way when Evelyn swung open her locker door. "Yeah, I liked that video," he went on with a crooked grin. "Gave me a good laugh."

"Yeah, it gave everyone a good laugh," Evelyn muttered ruefully. _And somehow it made our school's bullying problem even worse._ She snatched her algebra book and closed her locker. Patrick didn't seem to be in a hurry to leave, but she certainly was. "Look, Patrick, I gotta head to class. It's, uhh, nice to have you back." She didn't know what else to say, and he didn't seem to care if she meant it or not.

He shrugged away from her. "Sure. I guess I'll see you around then."

Leaning against her locker, Evelyn watched him strut down the hallway with a long, awkward stride. _What was all that about? _she wondered, her chest tightening with worry. Patrick never talked to her before. Never so much as looked at her. So why was he seeking her out all of a sudden?

_Maybe I'm overthinking it_.

Yeah, she probably was. Nothing Patrick did ever made much sense anyway.


	4. Chapter 4

1

Victor Criss was always the first to arrive at Mr. Grumley's advanced algebra class. He had to come early or else he might risk running into Henry Bowers or Belch Huggins in the hallway during the period change. They both thought he was in the regular math class (the dumb kid's math, according to his mother) because that's what Vic had told them, and if they found out he'd lied, they were sure to give him a whole lotta hell.

It would have been so much easier if Ms. Putnam had just let him flunk out last year. Then they would have sent him down to the dumb kid's math, and he wouldn't have to go through all this trouble. But then his mother got involved, like she always did, and Ms. Putnam agreed to give Vic a passing grade as long as he attended summer school. And you bet Mrs. Criss drove her son to his summer school classes every single day, and she watched to make sure he actually went into the building.

Vic pulled out his notebook and checked over all his answers one more time. That's when Evelyn Tozier walked into the classroom, carrying her math book at her side. Their eyes met in a brief but awkward stare before Vic returned to his homework and Evelyn made her way down the aisle, gusting past. His chewed up pencil went _tap, tap, tap_ against the wood.

Suddenly, a backpack thudded to the floor behind him; then came the _thump_, _dump_, _plop_ of her textbook, notebook, and fabric pencil case hitting the desk. Vic flipped to the next page, paper rustling as it settled. Her chair made a quiet _squeak_, _squeak-squeak, squeak. _

The painful _WHACK! _came last, striking Vic right in the back of the head.

"Fuck!" Vic cursed, flinching away from her. "Jeez, what gives, Ev?"

Evelyn leaned forward, shifting her weight onto her forearms. "That was a real shitty thing you guys did," she said with fire in her voice. "You knew how much those shirts meant to me, Victor, and you guys went and threw them in the garbage? What the hell is wrong with you?"

"What? What are you talking about?" He whipped around, then recoiled when he saw her hand fly up again. But this time it didn't make contact. It just hovered there, threatening to come down at any second if she didn't like his answer. Vic groaned, feeling more irritated than intimidated. "Look, we didn't throw your shirts in the garbage, okay? Last I saw they were in the backseat of Belch's car. If they got tossed, I don't know anything about it."

"Oh." Evelyn's chest deflated and her shoulders sank, hand falling to her side. _I guess Steph was lying then. Should've figured as much._ Then she crossed her arms over her chest and gave a frustrated huff. "Well, it was still messed up what you guys did. I need those shirts back, Vic. I really, really need them."

"So?" he said, the aggravation straining his voice. "What do you expect me to do about it? That's Henry's call, not mine." Then he gave his back to her, as if to say, _You're shit outta luck, kid. _

His answer didn't surprise her. Victor Criss was never one to stick out his neck too far for anyone else, not even when they were kids (back when he was still a brunet and didn't dress like some wannabe punk). In the sixth grade, he watched his best friend Jimmy Duncan take a brutal pounding and didn't lift a finger. When Sarah Miller's brand new leather jacket was stolen from her locker, he claimed he hadn't seen a thing even though he was there when Martin Davers swiped it.

"It's all about survival," he would always tell Evelyn, like school was some big war-zone you had to carefully navigate. And maybe it was. Maybe it was easier to lay low and stay out of the line of fire.

But why did that have to mean joining up with bullies like Henry Bowers? Evelyn had never understood that part.

"By the way," Evelyn said slowly, hesitant to bring it up at all, "where did Henry get that knife?"

Vic shrugged. "His old man gave it to him, I guess. Relax, it's just for show. Not like he's ever gonna use it on anyone."

_Yeah, until he does_, Evelyn thought woefully, remembering the manic rage that blazed in his eyes as he sliced and hacked at her shirt. It wasn't normal, not even for him, and it scared her a little. She rubbed her temple, feeling a headache coming on from thinking about it so much.

_You shouldn't trouble yourself over it, Evie,_ her mother would say. _He's not your burden_.

_Yeah_, she would shoot back, _but sometimes it sure feels like he is. _

Evelyn started to trace the woodgrain pattern on her desk with her finger. "Hey, Vic," she said quietly, "how's he been?"

"Same as always." He shot her a sideways glance. "Why, haven't you _seen_ him lately?"

"Huh?" Did he have a weird tone just now, or was she just imagining it? Evelyn shook her head. "Uh, no, not since—"

Rebecca Hall came into the classroom, followed by Andrew Davies and Seth McFadden. _Great timing, guys. _Reluctantly, Evelyn pulled away from Vic and opened her notebook, pretending to review her work. Seth McFadden sat down across from her and asked to check some of his answers against hers. Naturally, Evelyn kindly obliged, and Seth pushed their desks together. For the next couple of minutes, Vic listened to them swap answers, snickering to himself the whole time. His lips curled over his braces as he held in a smile.

That dumbass didn't have one correct answer.

Once class started, Victor Criss and Evelyn Tozier retreated into their usual routines. Evelyn was fully engaged in Mr. Grumley's lecture, asking questions and going up to the chalkboard to solve his sample equations. Vic didn't raise his hand once, but he answered all the questions in his head and smirked whenever he heard a wrong answer. He almost laughed out loud when Rebecca Hall said eight was a prime number.

Then, about halfway through the class, he heard something land on his desk. He looked down and saw a piece of paper, neatly folded into a perfect little package. He unfolded it and read the note.

_Vic, I need those shirts back. Please._

Sighing, Vic grabbed his pencil and wrote up a quick answer before tossing the note back over his shoulder.

_Fine, I'll talk to Henry.  
__No promises. _

Evelyn hid her smile behind her hand and crumpled the paper into a tiny ball. Then she ripped off another piece and wrote something else.

_Did you guys send Patrick to mess with me or something?_

Vic's response was fast, landing on Evelyn's desk with a quiet tap.

_Didn't even know he was back.  
__Why? _

Evelyn grabbed her pencil but then immediately dropped it. _You're acting ridiculous now, Evelyn. Why would Henry send Patrick after you in the first place? That's not something he would do. You're just being paranoid. And Patrick is just being ... Patrick. This is what he does. He plays around with the first thing that catches his eye and then quickly moves on to the next shiny toy. In fact, he's probably already moved on. Just relax. Focus on getting your shirts back. _She set the paper aside and turned her attention back to Mr. Grumley's rambling lecture.

When the bell rang, Vic was the first one up from his chair, slinking out into the hallway before the crowd got too big, before Evelyn had even started to pack up. She later caught sight of his green military jacket as she made her way to her next class. He was heading toward the east exit, where he would join up with his so-called friends and spend third period slouching around Bassey Park.

Evelyn shook her head in disapproval. "You're better than that!" she shouted at his back.

Vic didn't miss a stride, but before pushing open the door, he turned and gave her this defeated look_, _as if to say, _Sorry, but I'm not. _

2

At lunchtime, Evelyn found her friends at their usual table in the cafeteria. Hannah-Beth was very carefully unloading the lunch her mother had packed for her: a grilled cheese sandwich cut into two neat triangles, a small thermos of tomato soup, a plastic bag of carrot sticks, and a shiny red apple, which she tossed to Lenny Arkins when he asked for it.

"Do you want a carrot?" she asked Evelyn as she sat down.

Evelyn shook her head. "No, thank you."

Paul was picking through the pile of grey mush on his tray. "So, Evelyn, I did some digging around. People are saying Bowers threw your shirts in the dumpster. If you want, we can go looking for them after school." He smirked. "We'll just toss one of the seventh graders in there. Let them do all the dirty work."

Evelyn rolled her eyes. "Very funny."

Paul took a swig of his milk and wiped his lips dry with the back of his hand. "Seriously, though, we can go look. And I'm sure if you ask Mr. Marsh nicely, he'll even get them for us."

Evelyn stabbed herself a forkful of pasta. "Yeah, maybe."

Paul's brow furrowed. "What's eating you? I thought you'd be happy."

"No, I am happy. I just ..." She ran her fingers through her hair and let out a tired sigh. "Sorry, I just have a lot on my mind right now."

Paul shrugged it off and went back to his food. "You know, I still can't believe Bowers pulled out a knife this morning. How fucked up is that?"

Hannah-Beth was still trying to forget about that. It gave her goosebumps all over. "Has he always been so ...?"

"Crazy? Yeah, pretty much. I mean, I've only had to endure him for a couple years." Paul Colborne had moved to Derry in the middle of the seventh grade, and Henry Bowers welcomed him to town by shoving his face in the toilet and holding him there until he almost drowned. "But our little Evie here has been dealing with him for much, much longer. Isn't that right?"

"Huh?" Hannah-Beth switched her gaze to Evelyn, who seemed oddly preoccupied with her food, playing with it but eating hardly a bite. It wasn't like her to be this quiet. "So what was he like, Evelyn?"

When she looked up, her expression was cool and withdrawn. "Not much different than he is now," she said. _Short-tempered and easily provoked into violence. _Back then, he was just the farm kid who always came to school dirty and covered with all kinds of cuts, scrapes, and bruises. The teachers never thought much of it. Never so much as batted an eye. They just assumed it was from all the fighting he did.

_Because it's easier to accept the simple answer than to ask the tough questions. _That's what her mother had told her.

Evelyn peered over her shoulder and found his group sitting at their usual spot: far away from everyone else. Belch Huggins was riffling through two bagged lunches that he'd stolen from some eighth-graders while Vic Criss was silently eating the school's lunch. Patrick Hockstetter had dragged his chair over to a nearby table, where April Nilsen and Steph Price were sitting with all their friends. Patrick had his arm around Steph, but she kept coyly pushing it away and feigning disinterest, knowing it would drive Patrick wild.

Funny, a couple of years ago, Patrick would have been called a creepy pervert for how handsy he was with the girls. Now, it was suddenly charming.

Belch tossed a crumpled-up napkin at Patrick's head and told him to quit flirting. In retaliation, Patrick grabbed Steph's open bag of potato chips and threw it back, making a mess all over. Steph playfully smacked him on the shoulder. "Hey, I was eating those, you dick!"

Everybody was laughing, except for Henry Bowers. He seemed miserable as ever, leaning against the wall with a scowl on his face, barely paying attention to his friends, shooting dirty looks at anybody who so much as glanced in his general direction. _You know, _Evelyn thought,_ I don't think I've ever seen him eat anything at school_, and she turned back around when he looked her way.

"Back then, Bowers was your typical bully," Paul went on casually, taking a huge bite out of his roll, "but now, he's basically a full-blown psychopath—"

"He's not a psychopath," Evelyn said without thinking. "He's just ... angry."

Her sudden interjection caught everybody off-guard, including Evelyn. She immediately wished she hadn't spoken up at all, because now all her friends were giving her weird looks.

"Angry?" Paul said, mouth agape with disbelief. "He's just angry? What the hell does that kid have to be so angry about, huh? Not enough ripped jeans in his closet?"

"Nothing," Evelyn said, scooting away from the table. "Forget I said anything."

But Paul wouldn't let it go. "No, tell me. You're the expert on Henry Bowers all of a sudden, so tell me."

"It's nothing, Paul. I just don't like that word being thrown around, okay?"

"No, it's not okay. You know, you're always making excuses for that piece of shit. No matter what he does, you're always the first one to jump in and defend him. God, you're such a fucking hypocrite, Evelyn."

Her eyes got really wide. "What? I'm not a hypocrite. I just ..." She folded her arms over her chest and drew into herself, appearing so fragile and small. "Look, I don't wanna talk about Henry Bowers anymore. Can we please just drop it?"

That made Paul stop, realizing he'd gone too far. "Yeah. Sorry. Let's just move on."

The four of them finished eating in silence.

Then Hannah-Beth scooted her chair closer to Evelyn. "Do you wanna brainstorm new poster ideas?" she asked, getting her notebook ready. "That always cheers you up."

Paul was shaking his head. "Yeah, we need to talk about that. Um, I think we should cool it with all the posters. They're not helping nearly as much as we thought. In fact, I would say they're only making things worse." Particularly for him. Every morning, he had to spend five minutes scraping off all the defaced posters from his locker. Sometimes he even found them stuck to his front door when he got home. "I mean, maybe we should just stop this whole anti-bullying campaign altogether." He threw out the suggestion and let it hang there for a little while.

Nobody said anything, but Evelyn's eyes got small and squinty. "What are you saying, Paul? That we should abandon our entire platform? We've been planning this for over a year. We agreed on it. You said it was a great idea."

"Yeah, at the time, but nobody cares, Ev." He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling terrible. "Look, I'm sorry. I know that sucks to hear, but it's true. You're just wasting your time."

"And your paper," Lenny added, taking a huge chunk out of his new apple.

Paul nodded in agreement. "Besides, I don't think a little piece of paper is going to stop anyone—Hey, where are you going?" Evelyn had suddenly picked up her tray and stormed away from the table. Paul desperately tried to call her back. "Come on, I didn't mean anything by it. Your posters are great, really. Aww, Evelyn, don't go!" He threw up his hands in defeat. "God, she's so sensitive. Lenny, was I out of line? Honestly, was I?"

Across the cafeteria, Evelyn was angrily dumping out her lunch tray, careful not to let any silverware fall in. One of her new posters was hanging on the wall in front of her. Last week, she and Hannah-Beth had stayed late to put them up all over the school, and it didn't take very long for them to get covered with cruel insults and phallic images. Mr. Marsh had to tear them all down. Now only this one remained.

Evelyn ripped it off the wall and threw it in the trash.

"Oh, no," someone behind her said, "I liked that one, too."

Evelyn froze. She knew that voice. She heard it every third Wednesday when the student council held their monthly meetings. It was Jake Newham, student body president, captain of the varsity soccer team, and Evelyn's number one idol. She had worked tirelessly throughout his presidential campaign and felt an overwhelming sense of joy and fulfillment when he was elected. She liked to think all her banners and posters really put him over the top. She saved a few of them and put them up in her bedroom (behind her door, where her father would never look).

Now he was standing before her, seeming so much taller up close. "I've been there, you know," he said, looking down at her with a sympathetic smile, "having all your ideas mocked and criticized. I mean, I thought the whole school was gonna riot when I tried to take away the soda machines at the beginning of the year. In hindsight, not one of my better ideas." He broke off into a self-deprecating laugh, green eyes sparkling like emeralds. "But, eh, you live and you learn, right?"

"I thought it was a good idea," Evelyn said earnestly. "Then again, I am the daughter of a dentist, so ..."

"Right," he said, nodding. "Pretty sure your dad's my dentist, actually."

That made her blush. _Oh my god, he gets to work with those perfect teeth._ Suddenly her dad's job didn't seem so lame.

_"_Anyway," Jake went on, "my point is, most of your ideas are going to be rejected, but that doesn't necessarily mean they're bad, okay? So don't beat yourself up over it. Just get to work on your next big idea." He gave her shoulder a friendly pat. "Hang tough, Tozier. I'll see you Wednesday."

Evelyn almost squealed as she watched him go, arm still tingling where he'd touched her. Then she went back to her table with a reinvigorated feeling of self-confidence. It came out in a loud, unexpected burst as she slammed her hands on the table and announced to her team, "We're not giving up on the anti-bullying campaign. And we're not giving up on the posters. Got it?"

Paul made a face. "Aww, why, because Jake Newham told you it was a good idea? The guy's such a dweeb."

Evelyn shot him a menacing glare. "Hey, that's our president you're talking about."

"So? He's president of the high school, Evelyn, not the damn country."

Evelyn waved him off and sat down next to Hannah-Beth. "All right, let's get to work on some new posters. I want them up by the end of the week, okay? No complaining. Our classmates elected us for a reason, so let's show them all what we're capable of."

Paul threw his head back and groaned. "Fine ... Lenny, give me a pen. If we're really gonna do this, we better do it the right way this time. I'm talking pop culture references, people. Hannah-Beth, take plenty of notes because you're sheltered and you probably know nothing. Now I'm just spitballing here, but I say we use a picture of Darth Vader doing the Force choke, okay? And in big bold letters, we say ..."

3

**END BULLYING ... OR HE'LL END YOU**

Evelyn read the mock-up poster that Paul had handed her in the hallway. "Wow, Paul, you really put a lot of work into this." He even doodled a cute little Darth Vader cartoon with black and red markers. _I wish he had put this much effort into our t-shirt banner. _"But I don't think we should be threatening people."

He slammed his locker shut. "What do you mean? It's not threatening. It's funny."

"It's violent and totally off-message." She handed the paper back to him. "Come up with something else."

"Like what? Something lame like your idea? 'Open Hands, Not Closed Fists' or some dumb shit like that. We put those up, we're basically asking to get punched in the face by every student here. Do you wanna get punched in the face, Evelyn? Because I sure as hell don't. It fucking hurts."

A large group of freshmen came stampeding down the hall, caught in the excitement of another schoolday finally coming to an end. Evelyn moved out of the way before they trampled her into the floor. One of them, she overheard, was talking about Henry Bowers having to stay late to finish a math test.

"Look," Paul said, recapturing her attention, "I say we vote. Who says we go with the cool Darth Vader poster?"

As expected, Paul and Lenny raised their hands right away, but what really shocked Evelyn was seeing Hannah-Beth's hand go up a few seconds after—slowly, like she was afraid it would make her new friend mad.

Paul was beaming. "And all for Evelyn's lame poster?"

Evelyn rolled her eyes. "Okay, okay, no need to rub it in." Deep down, Evelyn knew her idea wasn't the greatest, but she chalked that up to be extremely distracted and off her A-game. "Now, I believe in democracy, so as much as I don't like it, as long as Mr. Burke approves it, we can go with your poster, Paul."

"Yes!" Paul gave Lenny a high-five. "Now let's get out of here. Lenny, you still coming over after school? My brother finally got his copy of _Castlevania _back from that shithead Elmhirst."

"Hell yeah!"

The three of them started down the hall, talking about their after-school plans, but Evelyn stayed by the lockers. "Um, you guys go on ahead. I'm gonna stick around here for a little bit."

They all slowed to a stop and exchanged confused glances. "What, you got a meeting or something?" Paul asked.

"No, I'm just gonna, uhh, wait for Henry to get out of class and talk to him about the shirts." Evelyn shifted a little in her stance and tugged her backpack strap securely into place.

Hannah-Beth gave her a worried look. "Are you sure that's a good idea?" she asked. "Going alone, I mean? Do you want us to go with you?"

"No, that's okay." In fact, that was the very last thing she wanted. "I can handle Henry Bowers just fine on my own. Seriously, don't worry about me. I'll just ... " She took a small step to the right. "I'll see you guys tomorrow, 'kay?"

"Yeah, I really don't think that's a good idea, Evie," Paul said, his face long with concern. "Look, I know you really want those shirts back, but they're not worth all this trouble. They're just shirts."

"They're not just shirts," Evelyn snapped, her temper boiling before she could get a handle on it. They just didn't get it. "And what would you know about their worth, Paul? You didn't pay for them. _I did. _Out of my own pocket, remember? Because I had to fix your fuck-up. Because apparently you don't know how to spell _sophomore_!" She turned on her heel and tore down the hallway, leaving everyone in stunned silence.

After a while, Paul muttered, "How was I supposed to know there were two o's?" He looked at the other two. "Did you know that? Did _you_ know that?"

4

Evelyn was sitting on the floor outside the freshman math class, her backpack resting beside her, a book clasped loosely in her hands. It was one of Hannah-Beth's romance novels actually. She had slipped it to her during English class, said it was one of her favorites and a must-read. Out of curiosity, Evelyn opened it up to a random page and skimmed over a passage. The prose was a little flowery for her taste, but so far there was nothing too scandalous going on ...

... until Evelyn reached a particularly racy description of a certain bulging body part; then she slammed the book shut and set it down on her lap, face burning with embarrassment, shame, and—although she would never admit it aloud—a tiny bit of lust.

But when she heard the squeaking wheels of Mr. Marsh's custodial cart, the shame took over entirely. He came around the corner, grumbling the whole time, and he saw the book right away. The look on his face was a fatherly one: stern and full of disappointment. It made Evelyn want to die a little inside.

"Girls like you shouldn't be reading those sorta books," he said, like it was a warning. Then he continued on his way, shaking his head.

"Yes, Mr. Marsh," Evelyn muttered, watching him go. She stuffed the book into the deepest, darkest depths of her backpack and vowed never to touch it again. "Thanks a lot, Hannah."

She threw her head back and kept waiting. The clock on the wall ticked and tocked, ticked and tocked.

3:15

3:20

3:25

At 3:30, the classroom door finally swung open and Henry Bowers walked out, calling Mrs. Lafferty a bitch under his breath. Then he noticed Evelyn sitting on the floor, and his expression soured even further. "What the hell are you doing here, Tozier?"

Evelyn staggered to her feet, legs immediately going numb from sitting for so long. "I, uh, wanted to talk to you."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? About what?"

Before she could get a word out, Henry walked right past her and started toward his locker. Evelyn snatched her backpack and stumbled after him, struggling to find solid footing.

His math book hit the back of his locker with a loud, reverberating _clang_. Then he carelessly tossed in his pencil and calculator and closed the door, pushing his back against it. His eyes narrowed into an intimidating glare. "You wanted to talk? So talk."

She sucked in a calming breath. "R-Right. Look, Henry, I'm sorry for what I did this morning. I acted without thinking, and I really didn't mean to make you look stupid in front of your friends."

He folded his arms over his chest, making his lean muscles more pronounced. "You thought you made me look stupid?"

"What? No, I just—" She bit down hard on her lip, realizing she'd made a huge mistake. Talking to Henry Bowers was like walking through a minefield. One wrong move and kiss your ass goodbye. "You know what, never mind. I shouldn't have come here. Sorry to have bothered you."

She turned to leave and saw Belch Huggins and Vic Criss rounding the corner. She rolled her eyes. _God, do they always have to travel in a pack? _

Belch was smirking as they approached. "What's going on here?"

"I think she came to beg for her shirts back," Henry answered, so obviously pleased with himself.

Beside him, Vic was giving her a look that said, _What the hell are you doing here? _

Right now, Evelyn was asking herself the same thing.

She spun around, intending to go the other way, and instantly ran into Patrick Hockstetter's waiting arms. His large hands clamped around her biceps and held her there as he smiled down at her, grey-green eyes glowing with anticipation. "Now where do you think you're going, hmm?"

"I - I need to go catch the bus."

His smile grew. "Don't worry about that. We'll give you a ride once we're finished here." Then he pushed her back towards the lockers, putting her right in the middle of the four of them. That's when Henry made his move, pinning her up against the lockers. He was so close they could practically kiss.

"Well?" he said, his hot breath mingling with hers. "You came here to beg, right? So start begging."

Her eyes flattened into slits. "I'm not gonna beg you for anything, Henry." As if she would ever stoop so low. "Instead, I'm going to ask you very nicely for my shirts back."

"Oh, really?" He gave a dry, mocking laugh and pulled away. "Fine, I guess I could give them back, since they're so important to you and all ... Five bucks a shirt sound fair enough? That's gotta be, what, three hundred dollars?"

"Three hundred and twenty-five, to be exact," muttered Vic, unable to keep his mouth shut. "There were like sixty-five shirts there."

"Sixty-nine actually," Evelyn corrected, all too happy to throw it back in Victor Criss's face. "I sold one, and ten never made it into the box, including the one Henry ruined, ... so it's more like three hundred and forty-five dollars."

Vic cocked his head to the side. "Are you sure about that?"

Evelyn nodded. "Positive. I'm in the advanced math class, remember? What class are you in again, Victor?" She flashed him a devilish smile that shut him up right away, and she almost didn't stop there. _I should tell them all the truth right now. Watch him squirm, the coward. It's no less than what he deserves. _But Evelyn was too nice.

And Henry was quickly losing control of the situation. "God, would the two of you shut the fuck up already?" he said with a frustrated groan. "Now the price is three-fifty, Tozier. Pay me three hundred and fifty dollars, and I'll give you your shirts back. Deal?"

Her jaw dropped. "Come on, you've gotta be kidding me. Henry, you know I don't have that kinda money."

Henry's lips curled into a knowing smirk. "Well, we can always work out something else, if you want." Then he reached out and wrapped his fingers around a lock of her brown hair, skin brushing gently against her cheek.

His touch made Evelyn's whole body go rigid. Her backpack slipped off her shoulder and fell to the floor, but Evelyn never heard it land. Somewhere in the far corners of her mind, someone was whispering, _Nobody else will know. _

The words echoed all around her, sucking her deep into the memory. _Nobody else will know. _

Without realizing it, Evelyn had pushed her hand out in front of her, shoving Henry back with great force. He rocked back on his heels, fighting to keep his balance, and then he came back at her, exploding with rage. "Don't you fucking touch me!"

Evelyn gasped and lurched away.

Before he could lay a hand on her, Belch Huggins jumped between them, shouting, "Henry, no!" and with all his strength, he pushed Henry back against the opposite row of lockers and held him there with his bodyweight as the teen thrashed about like a wild animal. "Have you lost your fucking mind? We're in school, man! You can't do that kinda shit in the hallway! Dude, chill! _Chill_!" He looked around, praying none of the faculty had heard the commotion.

Then he started to question why Patrick Hockstetter found this all so amusing.

The lanky teen had stepped away from the rest of them, watching the entire scene unfold with wide-eyed delight. His tongue flicked across his lips, making them wet and shiny. Then he looked at Evelyn, who stood clutching her heaving chest.

Vic Criss was standing in front of her, shielding her from the attack that never came. Evelyn saw him, and her heart sank with guilt.

"Vic," she whispered. "I'm sorry."

He peeked over his shoulder, brown eyes meeting hers in a cold stare. "Just get out of here, Evelyn."

She grabbed her backpack and ran down the hallway.

5

As soon as Evelyn walked out of the building, a hand came out of nowhere and grabbed her arm, slamming her against the brick wall.

"What the hell was that, Evelyn?" Victor Criss hissed, angrier than she had ever seen him. "Huh? Are you trying to make my life hell? Does it give you some kind of sick pleasure to torture me like this? Because now you've really put me in a shitty spot."

They had seen him. Without a doubt, they had seen how fast he stepped in front of her like that. And now they were gonna start to ask questions.

Evelyn's head was still spinning from the whole thing. "What? N-No, I wasn't, I swear. I was just trying to get my shirts back."

"Jesus, Evelyn!" He backed away from her and clutched his head, raking his fingers through his blond hair as he tried to think of a way out. "I told you I was gonna get them back for you, didn't I? I was gonna handle it. But you couldn't wait, could you? You just had to push and push and _push_ like you always do. And now, well, you're never getting them back. I hope you realize that. Henry's never gonna give them back to you now."

"I don't care," she uttered. "I had to stand up for myself. You certainly weren't gonna do anything."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he asked, glaring at her.

She glared back. "I dunno, Vic. I think maybe all that bleach has gone to your head a little bit. Because the Vic I know would never choose Henry Bowers over his real friends. But that guy's been gone for a long time, hasn't he? Now all I see is a spineless coward who only cares about saving his own ass."

"Is that right?" His laughter was cruel, but Evelyn could hear the hurt behind it. "I'm a coward, huh? Well if I'm a coward, then you're a fucking hypocrite, Evelyn." He punched the wall beside her and kept his hand there, bringing his face really close. Evelyn fought to avoid his accusing stare. He chased her with his eyes. "Yeah, you think I don't know? I live just down the street, Evelyn. I see who goes in and out of your house."

Suddenly, the door to the west entrance opened, and Mrs. Fletcher walked out of the school with her brown satchel bouncing on her hip. Her loafers hit the bottom step when she noticed the two teenagers standing in the shadow of the building. Their positioning made her suspicious. "Everything okay, Evelyn?"

At that, Vic retreated from her, shoving his aching hand in his back pocket.

"Everything's fine," Evelyn said, forcing a smile. "Have a good day, Mrs. Fletcher."

"You too." She gave Victor Criss a curt nod and continued on her way.

When the teacher was out of sight, Evelyn relaxed and stepped away from the building, moving closer to him. "Look, Vic, it's not what you think."

"Yeah?" He spun around. "So what is it then?"

Her mouth opened and closed, brown eyes glistening. "I ... I can't tell you. I'm sorry, but I can't."

"Of course." Vic hung his head and muttered something under his breath. "I guess I'm not the only one choosing Henry Bowers over my friends, then."

Evelyn dropped her head and went quiet.

The blaring honk of the Trans Am's horn sounded more like a siren as the car pulled up to the curb, Belch's muscled arm hanging out the driver's side window. "Hey, Vic, you coming or not?"

Vic looked at the car, then back at Evelyn.

"Vic! Come on!"

Vic cursed through gritted teeth. As much as he didn't want to go, he knew staying would only make things worse, so he left Evelyn without another word and strode off toward the car.

Henry pushed open the passenger door and climbed out. "What the hell was that about?"

"Nothing," Vic replied in a cool, detached voice. He glanced back toward the school and saw Evelyn sink to her knees in the grass, crying. _She was right. You really are a coward. _But it was too late to go back now. "She just asked me for her shirts back, that's all. Girl's pretty desperate."

_And I'm a fucking asshole._


	5. Chapter 5

1

There were few things in life that Belch Huggins cherished more than his 1981 Pontiac Firebird Trans Am. His lovely mother, Charlene, was one of them (and no amount of teasing from the other boys was ever going to make him think any different); the other was the mixtape Christie Gibson had given him last summer. Sure, the music was mostly shit: a mixture of teen-pop dance hits and new wave garbage that used way too much synth, but that's what had been playing while they were fooling around in the backseat of his car, so he couldn't bring himself to toss it. Instead, he locked it away in his glovebox—the same glovebox Henry Bowers was digging through right now.

The teen lazily fingered his way down the stack, finding mostly old receipts and other useless junk. Nothing particularly interesting. "You got a lotta shit in here, you know that?" His words were muffled by the lit cigarette jutting out from between his lips. He took it out and blew the smoke out the window with a single puff.

Belch kept one eye on the road. "Yeah, I gotta clean it out one of these days."

"No shit." Henry flipped it closed and leaned back in his seat, elbow hanging out the window. He flicked grey ashes onto the road. "Where are we even going?"

"I dunno, man. I'm just driving." He turned onto Macklin Street, going nice and slow as he passed the police station.

A loud groan came from the backseat. "We've been _just driving_ for an hour," said Patrick Hockstetter, his long legs bent at an uncomfortable angle. The cardboard box was wedged between him and Victor Criss, taking up what little space there was back there. "Why do we still have this anyway?" At this point, Patrick was ready to chuck it out the window and watch it get pulverized by the cars behind them. He pounded on the box a few times with his fist. "Let's just dump it already."

Henry blew out more smoke and ran his hand through his dirty blond hair. "Shut up, Patrick."

Patrick rolled his eyes. "Fine, then I'm putting on some music." He pushed himself between the two front seats and started fumbling with the frequency knob. "Because if I have to listen to metal mouth grinding his teeth for one more second, I'm gonna blow my fuckin' brains out."

Vic shot him a venomous glare. "Fuck you, man."

"Oh, so he can talk." Patrick stopped between stations, filling the car with the grating sound of static and snatches of voices, (_You're listening to WBFE …) _and he turned around, smirking. "So, Vic, I'm dying to know what you and Tozier were talking about for so long outside school today. Must've been quite the conversation."

Henry took an extra-long drag from his cigarette, closing his eyes as he inhaled the smoke.

(_… mostly cloudy tonight, with a low of fif-fif—ee—oo_)

"I told you already," Vic said, getting more defensive than he ought to, but all the noise was making it hard for him to think straight. Patrick seemed to sense that. Probably even planned for it, the bastard. "Girl just wanted her shirts back. Guess she thought I would help her."

(_and then I said to the kuh-kuh-kuh-klutz ... if you wanna be a juh-juh-ackassssssssss_)

Patrick propped up his elbow on Henry's seat, getting more comfortable than Henry liked judging from the look on his face. Patrick didn't care. "Yeah, but why would she think that, Vic? Why would she think _you_ would help her?"

All of a sudden, a loud, high-pitched screech took over the speakers, making everyone except Patrick cringe and cover their ears. The car swerved into the left lane, right into oncoming traffic. Belch pulled hard on the steering wheel just before they collided with a green four-door; then he slammed his fist on the wheel, his face red-hot and sweaty. "Goddammit, Patrick!"

The radio went dead after that (Henry had flipped the switch), but their ears kept ringing for a while as they adjusted to the silence. Belch made another right and then took the very next left onto Kansas Street.

Patrick looked annoyed, like a child who got his toy taken away. "I was listening to that."

When he tried to turn it back on, Henry gave his hand a good swat. "Just sit the fuck down, Patrick," he said, seething. "I'm already getting tired of your shit."

But Patrick didn't back down. In fact, he rose up a little, making himself sit even taller. "God, that girl's really got you worked up, huh, Bowers? Evelyn Tozier, who'da thought?" He gave Henry's arm a light smack. "Hey, why don't you do us all a favor and nail the little bitch already? Or are you too much of a pussy?"

Henry responded by putting out his cigarette on Patrick's forearm, enjoying the quiet sizzle that his skin made as it burned. Patrick seemed to enjoy it, too. The boy didn't even flinch. In fact, he was smiling.

"You know what," Patrick said in an almost taunting way, keeping his arm perfectly still, "it doesn't even hurt."

In turn, Henry pushed the cigarette deeper into his skin and gave it a little twist. The ashes pooled around the butt and crumbled away, falling onto the seat and onto the floor.

Belch glanced in their direction. "What the fuck are you two doing?" From where he was sitting, it looked like some sadistic game of chicken, and he wasn't sure who was winning. "Hey, you assholes better not get any of that shit in my car. I just vacuumed."

At that, Henry removed the cigarette and tossed it out the window before drawing a new one from his pack. Patrick's lips stretched into a victorious smirk as he sank back into his seat. A burning, bright red ring had already started to form around the tiny pink crater on his arm, getting darker by the second. Patrick didn't mind.

He threw his head back and stared up at the roof, getting lost in the blackness of it. "So, where are we going?"

2

Belch couldn't remember who had suggested they go to the dump, but he figured it was probably Patrick Hockstetter. Patrick liked to go there alone sometimes, to scour through all the muck and the trash in hopes of finding that rare diamond in the rough. Once, he found an old La-Z-Boy recliner that still worked if you gave the lever a good enough yank. He hauled it home in the back of Martin Davers's red pickup, then doused it with a full can aerosol spray to cover up the smell. Now it was his favorite chair.

Patrick got out first, before the car had even come to a complete stop. He pulled his long, skinny torso out through the driver's side window, dragged his legs over the frame one after another, and then jumped down. "Bout fuckin' time." His legs ached as he stretched them out for the first time, but it was a good ache. Their old strength was returning quickly. To prove it, he kicked an old soup can and sent it flying halfway across the yard, where it bounced off the broken door of an old puke-green refrigerator and rolled underneath a junked Toyota Corolla sitting on bare wheel-rims.

Patrick threw his hands up like he'd just scored a goal, then spun around. "You fuckers getting out, or what?"

They didn't move, and he didn't wait for them. Patrick sucked in a lungful of the sour, sludgy air and walked off by himself, disappearing behind one of the garbage piles.

The others were glad to see him go.

Henry Bowers made himself comfortable on the car's hood, pulling out a third cigarette with his teeth. It took him a couple of tries to create a flame with his lighter. For some reason, he just couldn't get the motion right, and his growing frustration only made it worse. "Useless piece of shit." Once he finally had it, he whipped the lighter at the ground and leaned all the way back against the windshield, drawing his legs in.

Belch Huggins and Victor Criss were watching him from inside the car, neither of them saying a word. Vic draped his arm over the cardboard box, holding it close, protecting it while he could. Then a thought flashed through his mind. He wondered if anyone would notice if he took the box and walked off with it. How far would he make it before Henry caught him?

Not far, he decided. Vic wasn't fast enough to outrun him.

But if he had Belch's car, he could do it. Sure he could.

Vic looked up at the rearview mirror and saw the older boy's reflection. Reggie (that was his real name, though hardly anybody ever called him by it) seemed troubled about something, maybe the same "something" that was bothering Vic right now. His large hands were on the steering wheel, gripping it at ten and two like you were supposed to, and the keys were still in the ignition, dangling from a silver chain with a red leather strap and two black-and-white dice.

Maybe, Vic thought as he watched the dice clack together, Reggie wanted to drive away too. If Vic asked him, maybe he'd gun it and take off. Make Henry Bowers slide off the hood and chase after them, hollering like a maniac. The thought almost made Vic burst out laughing.

Almost.

Truthfully, Vic was too scared—scared of not knowing what was about to happen, but _feeling _deep in his gut thatsomething terrible was going to happen if he didn't get out of there quick.

And that "something terrible" was starting right now.

"Hey," Henry said, leaning in through the driver's side window. The look in his eye made Vic uneasy. "Get out, both of you, and bring that stupid box."

3

Eddie Kaspbrak nearly screamed when the soup can came rolling out from underneath the Toyota Corolla, stopping just inches away from his foot. He jumped back, shoes sinking into the mud, and opened his mouth only to have the sound smothered by Richie Tozier's sweaty hand.

_Ugh, his hand smells like cheese, _Eddie thought first, wondering when the boy had last washed his hands. Then he saw all the dirt on the white bottoms of his black Nikes, and he knew he was sure to get a mouthful from his mother when he got home.

_Where'd all that dirt come from, Eddie? Goodness gracious, I swear I've never seen so much mud in my life! Where'd you go? Somewhere you're not supposed to, I'll bet. Oh, you know how I hate mud in the house. Take those shoes off before you track it all over the place. I just scrubbed those floors, too. Now I'm gonna have to scrub them all over again. Get on my hands and knees with a bucket and sponge. And you know how badly that hurts my knees, Eddie._

_I know, Mom, _Eddie would say, and he would slip off his shoes and promise to be more careful.

Somewhere in the distance, Patrick Hockstetter was shouting, "You fuckers getting out, or what?"

Richie yanked Eddie back, pulling them both behind the junked car. Eddie wrestled himself free of Richie's grasp so he could catch a proper breath. His inhaler would help, but it was in his fanny pack, and he was afraid the zipper might make too much noise.

Shoes crunched in the gravel as footsteps drew closer—closer and closer. They could hear Patrick Hockstetter humming to himself, sometimes stopping to mumble things that didn't make sense. It sounded like he was alone, but they couldn't be sure, and both of them were too scared to stand up and sneak a peek.

_Please, no, _thought Eddie, knees trembling. _Don't come over here! _

The footsteps got quieter and quieter, eventually vanishing entirely. A few minutes later, Richie Tozier mustered the courage to poke his head out and look. "He's gone."

That didn't make Eddie feel better. "He'll come back."

"Then we better be fast."

Eddie shook his head. "No. No, I don't like this. We should go. We shouldn't be here." Not in a junkyard of all places, surrounded by dirt and shit and disease, squatting behind a rusty old car while Patrick Hockstetter was waiting to jump out and grab him, lock him in that fridge.

Eddie's face went white when he thought about the fridge.

_It's just some bullshit story, _he told himself. _Hockstetter's an asshole, but even he's not that crazy. _

_Are you sure about that, Eds? _Toby Bickford sure thought the fridge was real enough. He'd seen it with his own eyes, or at least he claimed he had, but Toby Bickford liked to talk out of his ass sometimes. Richie Tozier had warned Eddie about him back in the sixth grade. "You really gotta have shit for brains if you believe any of the crap Bullshit Bickford says." Eddie had laughed when he heard that, but he wasn't laughing now.

Because Patrick Hockstetter was that crazy, and it was a different kind of crazy than Henry Bowers—a worse kind, Eddie believed. Bowers would shove your face in dog shit for no reason, or smash your nose, or break your arm, and when he screamed at you, his face got all red and looked about to explode off his neck like a balloon pumped with too much helium.

With Patrick, it was different. He wasn't the type to beat you up for looking at him funny, or running into him in the hallway, or saying something smart like Richie Tozier liked to do. Nothing ever seemed to make him angry. He was smiling, always smiling, but there was something deeply unsettling about that smile. Eddie didn't know how to describe it, but he knew it wasn't right.

He knew it was dangerous.

"Where's Bowers?" Eddie asked, keeping an eye out for Patrick just in case.

"On the car, smoking. The others are there, too." Richie pushed up his glasses. "The shirts are in there, I bet."

Eddie had almost forgotten about his sister's shirts. That's what had brought them there. Richie had forced Eddie to come along after Bill Denbrough and Stan Uris said no. Eddie didn't have a choice—Richie said so. Somebody had to go with him on his suicide mission, and Eddie couldn't think up a good excuse fast enough. So they hopped on their bikes and chased the Trans Am around town until it finally stopped at the junkyard (because, of course, they just _had_ to pick the junkyard). Eddie and Richie hid behind the old Toyota and stashed their bikes in some nearby bushes in case they needed to make a quick getaway.

But right now those bushes seemed miles away. What if they couldn't reach them in time? What if somebody came and nabbed them, and they were stranded there? _Then we'd be done for._ And Patrick Hockstetter would show him the fridge that wasn't supposed to exist.

"Okay," Eddie said, taking a big gulp, "what's the plan?"

For the first time since Eddie had known him, Richie had nothing to say, and that made Eddie even more scared.

"You don't have a plan, huh?"

The corner of Richie's lips curled up bashfully. Eddie should have known better. Richie Tozier wasn't exactly the plan-making type. No, he was more of a make-fun-of-the-plan type. Bill Denbrough was the plan-maker. Big Bill, that was who they needed now, with his big, crazy ideas that somehow always worked out. But Bill wasn't there. He had to help his father with a woodworking project after school.

_(I made a pruh-pruh-promise.)_

"Fuck," Eddie whispered. Now it really was hopeless. Stan would agree with him if he were there, but he wasn't there either. Nobody was there. They were alone. "We should wait. We should wait for Bill and Stan and try again tomorrow."

"There won't be a tomorrow, dipshit!" Richie whispered hotly. "Do you see where they are? They're at the fuckin' dump!" And now Henry Bowers was off the hood and walking around to the driver's side. He must have said something to Belch Huggins and Victor Criss because the two of them got out of the car, too. Richie saw the cardboard box in Vic's hands. "It's now or never."

4

"So, what are we gonna do with it?"

Patrick Hockstetter squatted down beside the box. The Zippo lighter was in his right hand, glinting in the sunlight. Patrick was playing with it: spinning the wheel with his thumb, making a flame, then slapping the lid closed with a quiet _clunk_. "I can think of a couple things." The lighter clinked open, and he flicked the wheel again.

The others were standing a few feet away. Henry was leaning against Belch's car.

"We're not setting them on fire," Vic said. "You trying to get expelled?"

Patrick shrugged. His lighter went _clunk. _"Not like you guys are offering up any ideas. How 'bout it, Bowers? We can have a bonfire. Throw the ashes on her porch."

"Shut up, Patrick," said Henry. "I'm thinking."

Patrick went quiet, sulking a little.

Gravel crunched in the distance.

A whisper.

Then a slap.

"We should just give them back," Belch said quietly. He took off his black-and-yellow cap and wiped away some of the sweat from his hairline before putting it back on. It was getting late; the sun was starting to set behind the trees. His mother would be home from work soon. "Those shirts are basically school property, aren't they?"

"Yeah," said Vic, "and a goody-two-shoes like Tozier won't hesitate to report us. I dunno about you assholes, but I'm definitely not getting detention over a couple dumb shirts."

Belch was shaking his head. The car keys jingled in his hand. He just wanted to go home and relax, eat some of that leftover pot roast that was sitting in the fridge and find out how his mom's day went.

"She's not gonna rat," Patrick said. "If she was, she would've done it already."

Patrick was right, but Henry didn't need to know that.

"Are you fucking stupid, Patrick?" said Vic. "The whole school knows we took those shirts. If she doesn't talk, one of her student council buddies surely will. And if it hasn't reached Hellyer by now, it will tomorrow. He's already got it in for us—for Henry, especially. Do you really wanna get suspended over this, Henry?" _I'm sure your old man would love that. _Vic didn't need to say that part; Henry was already thinking it. Vic saw him flinch.

But Henry was quick to hide it. "I said, shut the fuck up and let me think!" He started rubbing the back of his neck, clearly agitated. "I'll decide what we do with the shirts, okay?"

_Crunch. Crunch. _

_"They'll hear us." _

_"Shut up!" _

Patrick made a disgusted sound. "You're not gonna do shit, Bowers. We all know that. You're gonna give the shirts back to her, show her you're not such a bad guy after all. Because maybe then she'll finally drop her panties for you." He got to his feet, taking one of the shirts with him. "Here, why don't you keep one, Henry? The blue really matches your eyes."

The shirt smacked Henry on the nose before he caught it. Patrick was laughing.

"You want one too, Vic? I saw you jump in front of her back in the hallway. Don't think I've ever seen you move so fast."

The shirt came flying at Vic. He ripped it out of the air and pulled it down to his side.

_"Fuck! It's too heavy!" _

_"Shut up and help me!" _

Patrick went back for another, then stopped. "What the fuck?"

The box was gone, now clutched in the hands of Eddie Kaspbrak and Richie Tozier. The boys took four steps and froze when they felt eyes on them. Henry Bowers stepped away from the car, looking more confused than angry. And Patrick Hockstetter was smiling. That's when Eddie knew they were done for.

"Oh, shit!" He gasped and released his side. The box fell to the ground, blue shirts spilling everywhere. Eddie turned and ran, kicking up dirt and flecks of garbage.

Richie took off, too, but not before grabbing a fistful of shirts (because some shirts were better than no shirts, and he didn't want his plan to be a total failure). He passed the junked Toyota Corolla and picked up the pace. His feet skidded through the rocks as he changed directions, making a break for the bushes where they'd hid their bikes.

Wait, which bushes were they again? They all looked the same.

Eddie was heading a different way.

_Fuck! _

Richie decided to keep running. The shirts were wedged in his armpit—six, maybe eight of them. He'd lost a few somewhere along the way, but he couldn't go back for them now. Bowers was right on his tail. Richie could hear him screaming, "Get back here, you fuckers!"

"Eat shit, Bowers!" Richie yelled back once. He couldn't help it.

He should have been watching where he was going. If he had been more focused on that, he might have seen the broken bedspring that was lying on the ground. Instead, the trashmouth was too busy talking shit, so when his foot inevitably got ensnared by one of the coiled metal springs, well, he could only blame himself.

The shirts flew out and scattered away. The ground came rushing fast, smacking Richie Tozier hard on the chin. A giant cloud of dust and dirt settled around him, covering his hair and clothes. Richie tried to get up. Pain shot through his whole body as blood leaked out of a dozen cuts and scrapes on his elbows and knees. His right wrist was starting to swell a little. He had stuck it out in an attempt to brace his fall. Another dumb idea.

They were behind him now. Richie could see their shadows in the setting sun. Eddie was probably long gone already, peddling home and muttering under his breath about how he knew this was all a bad idea from the start.

Yeah, it was a bad idea—hell, it was a terrible idea, but Richie had to do something. If he didn't, then his big sister would never know how truly sorry he was, that he hadn't meant what he said in the kitchen that morning. He was just tired and annoyed and spoke without thinking. _Because you always speak without thinking. _

Henry Bowers rolled him onto his back with his foot. Richie tried to smirk, but the muscles in his face hurt too much. He looked around for his sister's shirts, reaching with his injured hand. He found one close by and tightened his fist around it.

Bowers was staring down at him, his eyes an angry blue. "Oh, you're gonna get it now, you little four-eyed freak."

Richie Tozier used the last of his strength to give Henry Bowers the finger.


	6. Chapter 6

1

"Where's your brother?" Evelyn heard her mother ask for the fifth time.

For the fifth time, Evelyn put down her pencil; then she sighed. Her math homework would have to wait. "He's probably at the arcade," she said, grasping the first thought that came to her mind. "Got sucked into another battle for some unreachable high score or something." _Street Fighter_ was his latest obsession. He was determined to beat Grant Elmhirst's top score. Fat chance of that. Grant was a camper; the guy practically lived at the arcade, and his pockets were always stuffed full of brass tokens. "In any case, I'm sure he'll be home soon." Richie never missed a homemade meal, even if it was something gross like tuna casserole.

"I hope so ..."

Mrs. Tozier was elbow-deep in soapsuds while a pot of water boiled on the stove. She leaned back to look at the clock. It was almost six. Strange, it wasn't like Richie to be so late, not on a school day. He would usually come home around 3:30 and dig through the fridge for a snack, maybe even make himself a ham sandwich if that day's lunch was especially unappealing. Then he would sit at the breakfast bar and tell her about his day while she scraped off egg and burnt-on grease from the morning's dishes. She'd laugh at his jokes, pretend to understand them, and when he was finished, she'd take his dirty plate, and he'd run out the door again.

But he should have been home by now. Something wasn't right.

Mrs. Tozier threw down the sponge and rushed to the phone, hands still dripping with soap. She dialed the Denbroughs' number.

"Sharon, hi, it's Maggie." She twisted her finger around the coiled cord until the tip turned purple. "Hey, my kid isn't over there, is he? ... Oh, no, everything's fine. He just hasn't come home yet is all, and I thought he might be ... Okay, yeah, I'll try there next. Thanks. Buh-bye."

She pushed down the switch and called Sonia Kaspbrak. If Richie wasn't with Bill, then he was probably with Eddie.

"Hi, Sonia, sorry to bother you while you're cooking, but I was just wondering if Richie was at your house. He hasn't come home yet, and I'm starting to get a little concerned ... Uh-huh ... Okay ... Wait, I'm sorry, what? ... No, he doesn't normally do this. He knows better than to ... Oh, come on, you can't be serious. I certainly do _not_ let my kids run wild."

Steam started seeping out from the pot. Evelyn got up and dumped in the noodles, gave them a stir, and set the timer for ten minutes.

"Look, my kids are perfectly well behaved, okay? And you know what, I don't appreciate you telling me how to raise my children. In fact, I don't think you're qualified to give _anyone_ parenting advice, you crazy, judgmental bitch!" She slammed the phone on the hook and clawed through her hair with both hands. "My god, that woman is insufferable! Absolutely insufferable! Did you hear her? She had the nerve to call me a bad mother. Me!" She put her hands on her hips. "_You know, Marge, if you didn't work so much, maybe you'd have a better hold on your kids._ Well, I'm sorry I have to work to put food on the table! Unlike you, I don't get to sit on my ass and watch TV all day!"

Evelyn held in a laugh, but a small giggle escaped anyway. "Wow, let it all out, Mom. Tell us how you really feel." She set the oven to 425.

"Oh, no." Mrs. Tozier sank into the nearest kitchen chair. The guilt was hitting her now, sitting in her stomach like a pound of spoiled beef. She felt like she was about to throw up. "Oh, I can't believe I called her a bitch."

"A crazy, judgmental bitch." _And everyone wonders where Richie gets his trashmouth. _Her little brother would be so proud.

"Did I really say all of that out loud? Shit." Her mother dropped her head into her palms. _She'll never forget that._ Sonia Kaspbrak knew how to harbor a grudge better than anyone. When the boys were in elementary school, she shunned Maggie and Wentworth for a whole year just because Maggie dared to criticize her potato salad at the summer potluck. It was bland and watery, and it made her husband sick, so Maggie refused to apologize over something so silly. "Well, I don't think Eddie will be allowed over here for a while, if ever." She lifted her head. "Sweetie, can you take the wine out of the fridge, please?"

Evelyn grabbed the leftover chardonnay from Friday night's dinner and poured her mother a generous glass. It was gone in three big gulps, vanishing before her eyes like one of the magic tricks her brother used to perform in the living room.

_(And, poof, its gone, ladies and gentlemen! Have you ever seen anything so amazing?)_

Evelyn hated seeing her mother like this. "Do you want me to go look for Richie? I will if you want. I'll go right now. I'm sure he just lost track of time." Richie didn't carry a wristwatch. He used to, but he kept breaking it.

"You're probably right." _Besides_, her husband would say, _what kidnapper would want our son? Five minutes of his yapping, and they'd drop him right back on our doorstep. You know I'm right. Sorry, Mags, looks like we're stuck with the kid._

Maggie would have laughed if she wasn't so close to tears. _"_I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to scare you. It's just ... you know, with everything that's happened ..."

"With the Durseys." Evelyn understood. "You don't have to apologize."

It was around this time last year that Gracie Dursey went missing. Evelyn had seen her that afternoon, while she was sitting on the porch and lacing up her skates. Gracie had wanted to come with. (_I'm good now, Evie! I almost never fall._) Next time, Evelyn promised. Next time, she and Gracie would do a couple laps around the neighborhood and then get some ice cream at Barton's. Mud pies were her favorite.

The kitchen timer beeped. Mrs. Tozier got up to drain the pasta.

"I still feel guilty," Evelyn said. "I know I shouldn't, but I do. I should have just taken her with me."

When she got back, Gracie was gone. Her pink tricycle was sitting at the end of the Durseys' driveway, but Evelyn hadn't thought much of it. She just assumed Gracie had forgotten to bring it in again.

"You couldn't have known," her mother said. "Nobody knew. Nobody thought it could happen here." Derry was a safe, quiet town. That's why she and Went decided to move there when Maggie found out she was pregnant. Everyone said it was a great place to raise children.

_Raise them for the slaughter._

No. Mrs. Tozier pushed that thought away.

"They moved today," Evelyn said. "I still can't believe it. Every time I look across the street, I expect to see their car out there. Stevie shooting his basketball. Gracie riding her tricycle, ringing that bell that drove everyone crazy." (_Ting! ... ting-ling ... Ting!)_ "Dad wanted to break the darned thing off."

_(Ting! ... ting-ling ...)_

_Click. _

The front door was opening. Evelyn let out a relieved sigh. "That's probably Richie."

"It sure as hell better be." Mrs. Tozier closed the oven door and stormed out of the kitchen. Evelyn followed a few steps behind, knowing her little brother was about to get a good ripping. "Richard James Tozier, you had better have a damned good reason for being so—"

Both women gasped when they reached the entryway.

The front door was still open, letting in the evening breeze. Outside, a car engine revved and tires squealed. Richie shut out the sound with a hard slam of the door, throwing all his weight against it. Then he stayed like that for a while, with his forehead pressed against the door, back trembling, shoulders heaving as he panted. When he finally stepped away, a small smear of blood remained on the white paint.

Weird, Evelyn thought, it almost looked too bright to be blood. Was this another one of Richie's dumb jokes? She was waiting for the punchline.

Her mother put her hand to her mouth. "Richie, what happened?"

His glasses were gone. Funny how that was the first thing Evelyn noticed. His face just didn't look right without them.

"I, uh, fell off my bike," he said, squinting. He lifted his chin to show off the scrape. "The chain came off again. Stupid piece of shit." He choked out a laugh, then winced and clutched the left side of his face. A bruise had already started to form where his hand was, and his bottom lip was swollen and split at the left corner.

"You fell, huh?" Mrs. Tozier put her hand on her hip. "And, what, the ground punched you?"

Richie nodded, sniffed, and rubbed his bloody nose with his fist.

Mrs. Tozier looked like she had more to say, but all that came out was a heavy sigh. "Well, I hope you punched it back." She put her arm around his shoulders and guided him toward the stairs. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up. I think I still have your old glasses in a case somewhere. Sure hope I do, or else you'll be bumping into walls until we can get you a new pair."

The stairs creaked as they went up together. Evelyn stayed below, haunted by the red mark on the door. It got bigger and bigger with every blink of her eyes.

"I think I might've sprained my wrist," Richie said quietly.

"All right, we'll take a look at that too." She hugged him close. "I'm just glad you're okay. You had me worried sick, you know. Did you walk all the way home?"

Evelyn suddenly remembered the car outside, how it had sped off in such a hurry.

"No," said Richie, "I got a ride."

2

David and Tabitha Criss lived five houses down, in a small cape cod with white siding and a glossy red door. It looked the same as when Evelyn was a kid, right down to the flower-beds and the basketball hoop that no one ever used. Victor had never taken to sports, but Mr. Criss sure liked the way it looked in the driveway. He thought if he left it there long enough, Victor might one day pick up the ball and decide to give it a try. Eight years later, the ball was still in the garage, half-deflated and tucked in the corner behind the lawnmower that Mr. Criss had yet to fix.

Evelyn felt weird standing in front of the house now. The last time she visited, she wasn't even tall enough to reach the tiny brass knocker.

This time, she decided to ring the doorbell.

"Just a minute!" Mrs. Criss called from inside. Her voice sounded exactly the same: light, sweet, and melodic. When she was a kid, Evelyn was convinced that Tabitha Criss was secretly a Disney princess. It was her go-to Halloween costume, after all.

But the woman who answered the door looked nothing like the cheerful princess from Evelyn's memories. She looked exhausted and overworked, ready to pull out her hair at any moment. Mrs. Criss was wearing a dirty kitchen apron over a mustard yellow turtleneck that seemed a size too small for her now-chubby frame. She still wore her hair the same: long and feathered like one of those classic bombshells from the seventies, only now it was thinner and peppered with tiny specks of grey.

"Evelyn," she said, her tired brown eyes sparking with life. "Wow, what a pleasant surprise! Look at you, all grown up and so tall and beautiful ... Gosh, I almost didn't recognize you!" She had to say that, Evelyn thought, because that's what adults did. Her aunt and uncle said something similar at Thanksgiving, and it made her feel a little awkward.

Evelyn forced a smile. "Sorry to bother you, Mrs. Criss—"

"Oh, it's no bother. I'm just finishing up dinner. I've got chicken roasting in the oven and garlic mashed potatoes on the stove." The smell was wafting out of the kitchen. It made Evelyn's stomach growl. Mrs. Criss must have heard it because she immediately invited her to stay for dinner. "I made plenty, and we'd be more than happy to have you."

It was a hard offer to turn down. "Thank you, but I have dinner waiting for me at home, actually. Tuna casserole." Evelyn cringed a little as she said it. Her mother never was much of a cook. "Anyway, I was just wondering if Victor was home."

"Oh." She sounded disappointed. "Yes, actually, he came home just a bit ago. Went right up to his room because that's what he does now." She started laughing, but Evelyn didn't get the joke. "Feel free to head on up. I'm sure you remember the way. Oh, but please take off your shoes before going upstairs. I just shampooed the carpet."

Evelyn saw Vic's dirty boots sitting on a rug near the door. "Sure thing, Mrs. Criss. Thanks." She took off her shoes and placed them next to his before heading upstairs.

The stairway wall was covered with framed family pictures: Mr. and Mrs. Criss on their wedding day, old black-and-whites of long-deceased relatives, and of course, childhood portraits of their only son. Halfway up was a picture of Victor in the second grade. He had a horrendous bowl cut and a gap-toothed smile, but he looked happy, happier than she'd seen him in a long time. Evelyn couldn't remember the last time she saw a genuine smile from Vic. Now he just always looked annoyed.

She took a left at the top of the stairs and entered the second room on the right.

"Oh, sorry—" At first, Evelyn thought she had accidentally stumbled into the wrong room. It was as dark as a cave and had this earthy, musky, almost skunky smell that made Evelyn's nose wrinkle at her first whiff. She covered her nose with her sleeve and poked her head in. The walls were a dingy green and covered haphazardly with posters of bands that Evelyn didn't recognize, and there was a guitar propped against the wall, but Vic didn't play the guitar.

At least she didn't think he did.

Then she noticed the teenaged boy hunched over on the side of the bed. A small plume of white smoke escaped his mouth as he glanced her way.

"You've gotta be kidding me." Vic threw his head back and sighed. "What do you want, Evelyn?"

Evelyn saw the glass pipe in his hand and scoffed. "Of course you're a stoner now. Why am I not surprised?"

He could hear the disappointment in her voice. On any other day, that might've shattered him, but today he simply didn't care.

Vic took another hit.

Evelyn's jaw dropped. "Does your mom know you smoke?"

"Obviously not." He sounded smug. "What, you gonna tell her?"

"Maybe," she threatened, but instead she walked in and closed the door.

Vic stayed on the bed, watching her tiptoe around his room like she was afraid to touch anything. Her arms were tightly crossed over her chest. That made him snicker. He didn't blame her for being uncomfortable. _Hell, I would be too. _He hadn't been in her room since he was ten, but now he found himself wondering what it looked like, if she still had that floral bedspread and all those stuffed animals she couldn't sleep without.

Probably not. Vic had thrown out his toys too.

He relit his pipe. "Sorry about the mess. If I'd known you were coming over, I would've tidied up."

"It's fine. I won't stay long." She shooed away the smoke when it crept her way. She didn't want the smell to stick to her clothes.

"You wanna sit?" Vic asked, motioning toward the spot next to him on the bed. She scrunched up her face like he'd said something crazy. Was that such a weird offer? It wasn't a problem when they were kids, but maybe it wasn't appropriate now. Vic scratched his head. "What are you doing here, Evelyn?"

She turned away from the poster she had been staring at. "You know why I'm here. I wanna know what you guys did to my brother. He came home looking like someone beat the shit out of him." _And he got a ride, too. _That part bothered her the most.

Vic snuck in a few more puffs before setting his pipe aside. "I'd rather not talk about that." Not now. Not when he was finally starting to forget.

She took a step toward him. "Is that why you're smoking, Vic? Feeling stressed? Maybe a little guilty?" Her voice was getting louder, too loud for Vic to handle in his current state.

He rubbed his forehead. "Look, I don't wanna talk about it right now, Evelyn." Today was particularly exhausting. He just wanted a couple of hours to himself before he had to do it all over again tomorrow.

But Evelyn was never one to let things go. "Vic, please tell me you guys didn't put him in that trunk."

His eyes widened, and his mouth went dry. "The trunk?"

_(You're gonna go for a little ride, buddy.__  
_

_No! No, please!_

_Unlock the trunk, Belch.)_

"Yes, the trunk, Victor!" Evelyn shouted. She was right in front of his face. "Did you put my brother in the trunk of your car?"

_(No way, man. I'm not driving around with a kid in my trunk. Are you fucking crazy?)_

"Did you?"

_(I SAID, OPEN THE FUCKIN' TRUNK!)_

"Answer me, Vic!"

"No!" Vic yelled, pushing himself to his feet. Evelyn staggered back. "I didn't do anything, okay?" He tried to leave. He walked away and left them all behind, but they caught up to him anyway. They pulled up along the side of the road, and Henry made him get back in the car. And then he had to sit there and listen to Richie Tozier screaming and pounding from the inside. It went on forever, but ... "I didn't do anything."

"Exactly." She gave him a light shove. "You didn't _do anything_, Vic!"

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. "Victor?" his mom called from outside. "Is everything okay in there? I heard raised voices."

Vic ran his hand through his hair. "Everything's fine, Mom." He tried to sound calm. "Sorry about the noise. We'll keep it down."

"You two better not be fighting. Dinner's almost ready. I made roast chicken!"

Vic rolled his eyes. "Okay, Mom, I'll be down in a little bit."

"Okay, okay. Evelyn, are you sure you don't want to stay? It's a lot of food for two people."

Evelyn's voice broke when she tried to answer. "No, thank you, Mrs. Criss. I gotta be heading home soon."

"Well, all right ..."

They waited for her to leave. Vic sat back down on the bed and prepared another bowl.

"I should call the cops," Evelyn whispered, glaring at him. "You guys went way too far this time."

"So go to the cops." Vic didn't care anymore. "Go ahead and tell them everything. But you know what'll happen if you do. Do you really wanna get him into more trouble?"

Vic already knew the answer. The look on her face said it all. He gave his lighter a flick.

Evelyn shook her head. "You know, I'm really disappointed in you, Vic. Sometimes I feel like I don't even know you anymore."

He shrugged. "That makes two of us."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You know what it means."

"Whatever."

She was halfway out the door when Vic spoke again.

"So do your friends know?" He took a big hit from his pipe while Evelyn stood in the doorway, silent. Vic looked her way and blew out all the smoke. "I'm thinking no, huh? Good call. Don't think they'd be too happy to hear you're fucking around with Henry Bowers."

Evelyn's eyes narrowed. "You don't even know what you're talking about."

Maybe not, but he knew what he saw. He couldn't get the image out of his head. "Hey, I'm not judging you. Do what you want, kid, but at least be honest about it, you know? Quit acting so innocent. It's getting kind of pathetic."

Pathetic?

"Fuck you," she spat, backing away. "I can't believe I actually thought we could be friends again."

"We were never really friends to begin with. Jimmy's the one who wanted you around, not me."

Vic knew that would hurt her, but, still, he wasn't prepared for the shitty feeling that came after she slammed the door.

Mrs. Criss heard her coming down the stairs. "Evelyn, is that you?"

Evelyn wiped her runny nose on her sleeve. "Yeah, I'm leaving, Mrs. Criss. It was real nice seeing you."

"It was nice seeing you too! Hold on, let me give you a proper goodbye."

"No, I really have to go." She didn't want the woman to see her all puffy-eyed and splotchy. "I'll tell my mom you said hi, okay? Maybe you two can get together soon. Have lunch or something."

"Oh, that'd be nice! You should all come over for dinner sometime. We have a lot of catching up to do."

"Sounds good." Evelyn shoved her feet into her shoes and reached for the doorknob, but just as she was about to turn it, a terrible yet tempting thought entered her mind. She was too angry to ignore it.

She released the doorknob and walked towards the kitchen. "Hey, Mrs. Criss?"

The woman was busy mashing potatoes by hand while her chicken rested on a cutting board. She stopped when Evelyn came in and smiled. "Did you forget something, sweetie?"

"Yeah, actually." Evelyn sucked in a breath. "Your, uhh, your son is upstairs, smoking pot."

Mrs. Criss's smile seemed to have gotten stuck from the shock. It was tight and stretched to the point where it looked uncomfortable. Then, suddenly, her right eye started to twitch.

Evelyn nodded. "Yeah. Thought you'd wanna know."


	7. Chapter 7

1

There was an awkward air hanging over the dinner table that night. Evelyn could feel it slowly tightening around her throat as she picked through her mother's over-baked tuna casserole and tried, with great effort, to find the edible bits. Those weren't much better. The dish was dry, fishy, and way too salty, but when her mother asked everyone how the food was, Evelyn said it was good, as always. It didn't matter; she didn't have much of an appetite anyway. Neither did her mother. She'd barely touched her food, but, you know what, she finished off the chardonnay just fine.

_It'd be better if she just yelled at me_, Evelyn thought as she watched her. _I know she wants to. _

When Evelyn returned from Victor's house, her mother was sitting at the bottom of the stairs like she had been waiting for her. Evelyn braced herself for a harsh scolding (and inevitable grounding), but her mother didn't say anything, just stared at her with this deeply disappointed expression that cut her to her core.

_I know it's my fault, Mom. Don't worry, I'll handle it. _Evelyn crunched down on a noodle, swallowed, and immediately started to cough.

Her mother looked up at her with mild concern. "Wrong pipe?"

Evelyn nodded and took a swig of her iced tea.

Her brother only made it worse. He gave her a few hard smacks on her back with his good hand. "Out with it, woman! Come on, spit it out! Don't you die on me!"

"Richie, don't exacerbate things," said Mrs. Tozier.

The better side of his face twisted into a crooked smile. "What? I'm helping."

"I can see that," and with her eyes, she very lovingly said, _Knock it off._

Message received. Richie backed off and went back to his dinner.

The house phone started ringing after that, so Mrs. Tozier got up to answer it. While she was gone, Evelyn cleared her throat a couple of times and took another drink before throwing her brother a threatening glare. "You're lucky you're hurt."

He laughed. "Or what?"

"Or nothing," their mother said with the phone against her ear. "Stop it, both of you." Then to the caller she said, "Tozier residence."

Evelyn stabbed a bit of tuna with her fork and put it in her mouth while Richie poured himself a second glass of iced tea. "You want some?" he asked Evelyn as some tea splashed onto the table. She shook her head, but he poured her some into her glass anyway because, well, he just liked to be a pain in the ass.

Mrs. Tozier hung up the phone and returned to her seat.

"Was that Dad?" Evelyn asked. "His plane should be landing soon."

"No, I don't know who that was." They hung up immediately after she answered. She shrugged. "Must've been a wrong number or something."

"Oh." Evelyn pushed her plate away. "Well, I'm done eating."

"Cool," said Richie. "More for me." The cumbersome wrist brace made eating a bit more difficult, but that didn't stop him from inhaling his food (all but the peas; he hated peas) and asking for a second helping. Mrs. Tozier said he could eat as much as he wanted. She had found his old glasses in the bottom drawer of the bathroom cabinet. The lenses were thick like coke bottles, but he could see well enough with them. He just had to keep pushing them up every so often.

He was fiddling with them now. "Hey, are there any potato chips left?"

"Why do you need potato chips?"

"For a little extra crunch on top."

Mrs. Tozier let out a tiny sigh. "Yeah, there should be a bag in the cupboard. Want me to get it?"

He hopped out of his chair. "No, I got it."

Evelyn took one last sip of her tea and then asked to be excused from the table. "I, uh, have a lot of homework to do."

"Sure," her mother said. "Go ahead."

"Thanks."

Evelyn cleared her plate, stole a handful of potato chips, and went upstairs to her bedroom.

Just as Vic had assumed, all of Evelyn's dolls and stuffed animals were long gone and hardly missed. She had happily donated most of them during the school's annual toy drive, and the rest had been given to the children she babysat. All but one, that is. For sentimental reasons, she hung on to the floppy-eared white rabbit her little brother got her when he was six. He'd picked it out all by himself and did extra chores for a month to pay for it. Now it had a permanent place on the shelf above her desk, right next to a picture of the two of them at the beach.

She dragged her backpack over to her desk and took out her math book. _I bet Vic's already done with his assignment. _

Although he would never admit it (in fact, he desperately tried to hide it), school came easily to him—so easy it was almost boring. He never studied or participated in class, and he procrastinated every paper and project, but somehow he always received high marks. It was very frustrating from someone like Evelyn, who took copious notes and studied for hours and hours but still couldn't score as high. Math was her biggest problem area. On more than one occasion, Mr. Grumley had expressed his doubts about Evelyn continuing down the advanced math track. He worried for her, said she'd struggle too much with the more abstract concepts.

"Then I'll work harder," she'd said. "I'll get a tutor or something." She had planned to ask Victor for help, but after today, he would probably say no.

_"We were never really friends to begin with." Did he really mean that?_

It was true, of course, but it still hurt to hear it out loud. No, they weren't friends, not even as kids. Victor and Jimmy Duncan were friends, best friends, and Evelyn was just the annoying girl that followed them around all day, demanding to be included. Victor only tolerated her because Jimmy liked having her around. Now that Jimmy was gone, what reason did he have to keep up the charade?

Evelyn sharpened her pencil and tossed the shavings into the bin beside her desk. _Well, it's his loss, _and she refused to waste another thought on him.

2

"I'm home!" Mr. Tozier announced as he stumbled through the front door with a suitcase in one hand and a box of doughnuts in the other. He looked around. His family was nowhere to be seen, but he could smell the stench of fish and burnt cheese, so he knew he had the right house. He closed the door with his shoulder and set the suitcase down at his feet. "Hello? Adoring family? Anyone home?"

He found his wife and son at the kitchen table. Maggie was trying to shake the very last drop out of a bottle of wine, while Richie was dumping a bag of potato chips onto a plate of burnt tuna casserole, and he was wearing a wrist brace.

_Jesus, I'm gone for three days, and all hell breaks loose. _

He gave his son's hair a little tousle. "What's up, kiddo? Have a little accident?"

Richie turned around, and Mr. Tozier grimaced. "What the hell happened to you?" The bridge of his nose was swollen, and he had a giant, fist-sized bruise on his left cheekbone. Mr. Tozier pushed up his steel-framed glasses and leaned in to get a better look. It was even worse up close. "Someone gonna answer me?"

"Just boys being boys," said Mrs. Tozier, while Richie remained uncharacteristically quiet. "It looks a lot worse than it is."

"Is that right?" Mr. Tozier was skeptical. _Kid looks like he went twelve rounds with Rocky Balboa._ He shot his wife a worried look, then decided he was better off not knowing the details. "Anyway …" He gave the pink box a shake. "I brought doughnuts!"

"Oh, perfect." Mrs. Tozier made a motion with her hands. "Fork 'em over."

She ripped open the box as soon as it touched the table, claiming two of the jelly-filled pastries and stuffing the first into her mouth. She chewed a couple times and smiled up at her husband, perfectly content. "Welcome home, honey," she tried to say, and Mr. Tozier chuckled quietly to himself. Her cheeks were all puffed out like a chipmunk's, and there was a little jelly on her chin, but he thought she had never looked more adorable.

He took a napkin and gently wiped her face, then bent down to plant a kiss on top of her head. "Happy to be home."

"Get a room," said Richie as he grabbed a chocolate doughnut.

Evelyn came down a few minutes later, lured by the sweet smell. "Hey, Dad." She sat down next to her brother and took the only glazed doughnut in the box. Richie tried to grab a second, but Mrs. Tozier told him he'd already had enough sugar for one night. She put the box away and sat back down at the table.

"So, Dad," Evelyn went on, "how was the conference?"

Mr. Tozier cut his cinnamon sugar doughnut in half and wished he had a nice cup of coffee to go with it. For a moment, he considered making some, but he was worried the caffeine would keep him up all night. He sighed. "Riveting, as you can imagine. A real rager." He couldn't keep up with teenage slang, but he thought he had used that word correctly. The look on his daughter's face suggested otherwise. He needed to change the subject. "Oh, but I found something for you at the airport." He left the kitchen and came back a few minutes later with a postcard that said GREETINGS FROM BOSTON. "For your ever-growing collection. I'm pretty sure you don't have this one."

She did, actually. Her aunt had sent that same one last year, and on the back, she'd scribbled directions to a little restaurant off the beaten path that served the best crab cakes she'd ever had. Nevertheless, she was grateful. "Thanks, Dad. I have just the spot for it."

Richie looked at the postcard, then back at his father. "So where's my present?"

Mr. Tozier decided he wanted some coffee, after all, and started brewing himself a pot. He dumped the coffee grounds into the filter, flipped the switch, and leaned against the counter while he waited for it to finish. "Who says I got you anything? That's awfully presumptuous, wouldn't you say?"

Richie rolled his eyes. "Cut the shit. What'd you get me?"

"Hey, language!" said Mrs. Tozier. "You know I don't like that."

He brushed her off. "Sorry, sorry." Then to his father he said, "Seriously, though, what did you get me?"

"I told you. Nothing."

"Bullshit." Richie pushed himself to his feet and went to search his father's luggage for the present he was owed. He unzipped every zipper and felt around in every pocket until … "Eureka!" _Ventriloquism for the Total Dummy, _the missing piece to his comedic act. He ran back into the kitchen to show off his new book. "Check it out! Check it out!"

Mr. Tozier smiled at his son's reaction. "Thought it might be a nice addition to your repertoire. Put some of those voices to good use, huh?"

"Oh, wonderful." Mrs. Tozier got up and started clearing the table.

"Man, this is great," Richie muttered as he skimmed over the first few pages. "Now I just need a dummy." His eyes went right to his sister, and his swollen lips curled into a cheeky grin. "Hey, what about you? You look dumb enough. Come on, shweetheart, whaddya sayyyyy?"

Evelyn smirked. "I say, you need to work on those voices some more. They're all starting to sound the same."

Richie gave her the finger, and his mother responded with a light smack to the back of his head. "Hey, what did I say? One more time, mister. _One more time_ and you're heading to bed early, and there will be no movie on Saturday."

"What? That's not fair! We had a deal. I mowed the lawn, back and front and both sides, just like you asked."

"And you did a pretty shit job, if we're being honest," said his father as he casually stirred his coffee. "There were patches all over."

"Well, I never promised quality."

"And we never promised you could go on Saturday. You asked for money, and I gave you money, didn't I? If you happen to be grounded that day, that's not my problem, is it?"

"Went, stop teasing him," said Mrs. Tozier from the sink. "Richie, hand me your dinner plate."

"I'm not done yet."

"Yes, you are. It's gone cold."

"That's how I like it."

Mrs. Tozier pointed the sponge at him. "Do you wanna wash the dishes tonight? Huh?" At that, her son finally went quiet. "Didn't think so. Now go get your plate."

The phone rang again, which was unusual for a quiet Monday night. This time, Mr. Tozier answered it. "Tozier residence, Wentworth speaking."

Once again, no one was answering.

"Hello? _Hello?_ Anyone there?" Then he hung up the phone and went to the table with his coffee. "Nobody was there. Weird."

_Very weird_, Evelyn thought as she stared quizzically at the phone on the wall. She wondered who it was that kept calling, and for a second, she thought she knew who it might be. He had a habit of calling and hanging up whenever someone else answered. The name was right there on the tip of her tongue, but she didn't dare utter it out loud.

Her mother said, "You know, that's the second time that's happened tonight. Do you think there's something wrong with the phone?"

"No, I doubt it. It's probably just some dumb kid playing a prank." Mr. Tozier dunked his doughnut in his coffee before taking a bite. "Oh, Evie, I almost forgot! How did your fundraiser go this morning? Sell a lot of shirts?"

"Shirts?" Her eyes snapped back to their natural position. "Oh, well, actually …"

"Henry Bowers took her shirts," said Richie, and Evelyn gave him a hard shove that almost knocked him off his seat. "What? It's true!"

Mr. Tozier had heard enough. "Wait, some kid stole your shirts? Did you tell the principal?"

Evelyn shook her head. She couldn't go to the principal. If she did …

"All right, don't worry. I'll call the school first thing in the morning."

"You can't!" Evelyn blurted out, making everyone at the table flinch. Even her mother seemed startled. She told her not to raise her voice at the table, and Evelyn quietly apologized. "I just meant it's not a big deal, that's all. Just a harmless school prank. Besides, Vic said he would help me get them back."

Richie muttered something under his breath.

"Oh, that's nice," said Mrs. Tozier, smiling. "Are you two talking again?"

Evelyn forced herself to nod. "A little, here and there. We have a class together."

Mr. Tozier looked around, confused. "Vic? Who's Vic?"

"Victor," said Mrs. Tozier. "Victor Criss? You know him."

"No, I don't any kids named Victor."

"Yes, you do. Tabitha and David's kid. He's a blond now, dresses kinda … grungy?"

"Oh, right." That was the kid he would sometimes see while he was driving home from work. Always with a group of boys his age. Bunch of troublemakers from the look of them. "That kid's kinda weird."

Mrs. Tozier shrugged. "It's a phase, I'm sure. All teenagers go through it."

"Ah, yes, the dreaded rebellious phase. I know that all too well." Mr. Tozier leaned back, casually passing his gaze to his teenage daughter. "I wonder what yours will be."

"A slut phase," said Richie, snickering.

Mrs. Tozier's jaw dropped. "Richie, don't call your sister a slut."

"What? I didn't. I'm just saying … the school already thinks she has syphilis."

_Oh, Richie. _Evelyn let out a groan while her father nearly choked on his coffee. "Syphilis, what?" he said between coughs. "What is going on at that school?"

And with that, Evelyn decided that she'd had enough of this incredibly long and miserable day. She bid her family good night, gave her father a kiss on the cheek, and went back up to her room. The postcard he gave her stayed on the desk while Evelyn relocated to her bed for a quiet night of reading. She hoped burying herself in her history book would help to clear her head, or at the very least, send her into an early slumber.

Richie came up a little while later and opened her door just enough to poke his head through. "Hey."

Evelyn was lying on her stomach, with her book open and her chin propped up on her palm. She looked his way and smiled. "Hey, what's up?"

"Just wanted to say good night."

"Oh. Good night."

She went back to her reading, and Richie took a single step into the room, lingering awkwardly. "Hey, you know I was kidding, right? I mean, about that whole syphilis thing. Nobody thinks you really have it." _I mean, how could you? You have to have sex in order to have it. _He nearly said that part out loud, but thankfully he caught himself just in time.

She flipped the page. "Yeah, I know."

"Yeah …" After twelve years of playing the annoying brother, Richie Tozier could tell pretty easily when he wasn't wanted. This was one of those times. He turned to leave. "Well, g'night."

Evelyn closed her book and rolled onto her side. "Hey, Richie?"

"Yeah?" he replied quickly, too quickly. He didn't want to sound too eager to talk to her, so he played it off like it was nothing. He leaned against the doorframe. "What is it?"

She was staring at his wrist brace, as if entranced. Richie moved his arm out of view.

"What did you do to make him mad?" she asked.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you had to have done something to make him react like that." _He wouldn't just do that for no reason. He promised. _"So what did you do? Did you make fun of him or shoot off some smartass remark without thinking?"

"What the fuck?" He spat out the words, eyes widening with disbelief. Then he got angry. "You're saying this is my fault?"

"Of course not! Richie, that's not what I meant." But what did she mean? Evelyn didn't even know anymore. The whole situation was turning into a tangled mess of secrets and lies, and everybody around her was getting hurt.

And all for what?

"It was those dumb shirts," Richie muttered under his breath. "Those dumb, ugly shirts that you just had to shove in everyone's face." It was so frustrating having such an annoying do-gooder for a sister. Charity drives, bake sales, endless school spirit campaigns. She made herself such an easy target, and even worse, she didn't seem to care.

"Wait, what do my shirts have to do with anything?"

"I tried to get them back."

"You what? You tried to …?" No, she didn't want to believe that. There was no way he would actually— "Richie, why would you do that?"

"I dunno! You worked so hard on them, and you spent all that money, and they were gonna burn 'em. Eddie and I, we were gonna sneak in and grab them, but they caught us, and Eddie ran, and I …" His voice got really quiet, and he stared down at his feet. "It was a stupid idea."

"Yeah, it was a stupid idea," Evelyn said, making her brother wince. "You could've gotten really hurt, Richie."

"Yeah, I know." He dragged his foot back and forth across the carpet. "Sorry."

"Just—" Her voice softened. "Don't do anything like that ever again, okay? It's not worth it."

"Okay."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

"Good." Evelyn looked over at her alarm clock. It was almost ten. "It's getting late," she said. "You should get some sleep."

"Yeah, you too." Richie started pulling the door closed, then stopped and called his sister's name again. This time, she gave him an annoyed look, but it didn't bother him. He knew she was just tired.

"Vic's not your friend," he told her, because someone had to. Evelyn was too trusting. "Maybe he was before, but he's not anymore, okay? He's just like the rest of them. So don't expect him to help you."

Then the door closed, leaving Evelyn speechless. She flipped over and buried her head in her pillow. "He tried to get my shirts," she muttered into the pillowcase. "God, it really is my fault," and she had no idea how to fix it.

Her parents were in their bedroom now, arguing over what to do about what happened to Richie. They were trying to keep their voices down, but Evelyn could still hear them from her room.

She crept into the hallway to listen better.

"What am I supposed to do, Maggie? Wait until that little maniac kills somebody?" He was pacing. Her father always paced when he was worked up over something. "I dunno how you can be so calm about all this. I mean, what the fuck! How many more times does our son have to come looking like that before we actually do something, huh? The school needs to know. That kid should be expelled."

"That's not gonna help the situation."

"Well, then I'll call his father."

Evelyn gasped, fear clutching her heart. She ran back to her room and slammed the door shut, not wanting to hear anymore.

3

At eleven o'clock, Evelyn was startled awake by the sound of a phone ringing. She lifted her head up from her textbook and wiped some of the drool from the corner of her mouth. _Who would be calling this late? _she wondered, looking once more at the clock. It was probably another one of those wrong number calls, so Evelyn decided to answer it before it woke up her sleeping parents. They wouldn't handle it half as well as she would. In his cranky, sleep-deprived state, Mr. Tozier would probably rip the phone cord out of the wall.

Evelyn stretched across her bed and picked up the phone on her nightstand. "Hello?"

On the other side, she could hear faint breathing.

Slowly, she sat up. "Hello? Who is this?"

Still no answer.

That's when her heart started racing. She swallowed the lump in her throat and cupped her hand over her mouth, afraid that her parents might somehow hear. "Henry …?"

Then there was a _click_ followed by the dial tone. Evelyn lowered the handset to her chest and held it there. _It was him. I know it was him. _She hung up the phone and started getting ready for bed.

Her brother's bedroom door was still open when she passed by. Richie was asleep in his bed, snoring with his mouth hanging wide open, while his TV played some old sci-fi movie that he'd seen half a hundred times. Evelyn stopped for a second to watch him. After all he went through today, it was nice to see him sleeping so peacefully. "Sweet dreams, loser." She shut off the TV and closed the door before going into the bathroom.

Ten minutes later, Evelyn returned to her bedroom, her face washed and teeth brushed, and changed into her warm cotton pajamas. Her history book was still on the bed, open to the chapter about the teachings of Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle. Mr. Durbridge would be quizzing them on it tomorrow, so Evelyn wanted to squeeze in one last quick review before she called it a night.

As she was walking towards her bed, however, something in the window caught her eye. She peered through the gap in her blinds and couldn't believe what she saw.

Across the street, the Durseys' house lights were on.

4

_Maybe they forgot something, _Evelyn thought as she walked across the street, her robe tied tightly around her waist. _They left in such a hurry this morning, it's totally possible. _She stopped in the middle of the road. Their car wasn't in the driveway, and it wasn't parked along the street either. That made her nervous. Evelyn looked back at her house, shivering as a gust of wind swept through. It was chilly out, much colder than she expected it would be, but she'd already gone too far to turn back now and grab her coat. She hurried across the street and climbed the porch steps one at a time.

The front door was already open. Evelyn gave it a push and stepped inside. "Mrs. Dursey?" she called, her voice echoing off the bare white walls and sounding so loud. "Hello?"

As she made her way through the entryway, Evelyn was amazed by how small the house seemed with all the furniture gone. She wondered how a family of five managed to squeeze themselves into such a tiny space. Of course, now it was hard to imagine any family ever living there. It was so empty. All the walls were naked but marked with tiny holes where framed pictures once hung. Near the door, where the built-in coat rack and shoe cubby was, there used to be an ornate wooden welcome sign that had all the family members' names carved into it. They had pay to get it redone after Gracie was born. She wondered if they brought it with them to Connecticut. She hoped they did.

In the kitchen, a cabinet opened and closed. Evelyn approached slowly and peeked around the corner.

Her eyes bulged. "P-Patrick?"

For a second, she thought she was dreaming. She closed her eyes and gave her head a shake to wake herself up, but when she opened them again, he was still there, sitting on the kitchen island, slouched over with his feet dangling over the edge, playing with that damned Zippo lighter.

He seemed unsurprised to see her. "Do you know how many bathrooms this place has?"

"Huh?" Evelyn blinked, dumbfounded. "Uhh … two and a half? There's a powder room on the main floor." She pointed with her finger. "Just down there."

"Hm." His lighter went _clunk_, and his eyes rolled back a little, like he was thinking something over. "Gotcha." Then he pushed himself off the counter. "Well, that's a shame. Really need that third full bathroom. I bet that's why they moved."

"Their daughter died."

"Oh?" He gave his head a little tilt. "That explains the posters."

"Posters?"

He nodded. "Found a stack in one of the drawers. A bunch of missing posters for a little girl. Katherine, I think her name was, or something like that."

No, that was just her formal name: Katherine Grace Dursey. No one ever really used it, and those who did were quickly corrected by the four-year-old. "Katherine's my mom's name," she would always tell them, with just a little bit of sass. "I'm Gracie."

"Cute kid, though," Patrick went on, and Evelyn thought that was a weird thing to say about a deceased child. Then again, Patrick Hockstetter seemed to have little regard for basic etiquette—or personal space. Evelyn stepped away when he got too close.

"What are you doing here, Patrick?" she asked, keeping a safe distance. He had no reason to be in their house. The kid didn't even live on this block.

"Hm? Oh, I was waiting."

"Waiting?"

"Yeah. See, I was waiting for all the lights to go out at your house. After a while, I got bored; then I saw the 'For Sale' sign and decided to take a look around to pass the time."

"So you broke into their house?"

"Oh, I didn't break in. The key was still under the mat." To prove he wasn't lying, he pulled the silver house key out of his pocket and showed it to her. "See? Not a very smart place to put your spare key. I sure hope your family's more clever than that." He tossed the key over his shoulder, and it hit the floor with a quiet _ting _and bounced twice before disappearing under the fridge.

Evelyn thought he was trying to distract her from the point. "Okay, but why did you come here, Patrick? It's not like you just happened to be in the neighborhood, right? So why?"

His face lit up like she'd just asked the million-dollar question. "I have something for you."

"You have something for me?"

"Mhm, but you have to close your eyes."

"Yeah, I'm not doing that." Hilary Garnham did that once, during a game of seven minutes in heaven. Apparently, it didn't end well.

He pouted a little. "Come on, close your eyes. You don't wanna ruin the surprise, do you?" He smiled, as if that was supposed to be comforting. Evelyn folded her arms over her chest. "Seriously, close your eyes. I promise I won't do anything inappropriate."

Evelyn made a face. "I think we have different definitions of what's appropriate, Patrick," but she closed her eyes anyway because it was the only thing that would make him go away. She just hoped she wouldn't regret it.

"Okay, now keep them closed."

Reluctantly, she obeyed. "I don't see why this couldn't wait until tomorrow."

She jumped when she heard a sudden noise. Footsteps circled around her, then got further away. More than anything, Evelyn wanted to open her eyes, and once she almost did, but Patrick told her to keep them shut.

"Keep 'em closed. Keep 'em closed. Almost done. And—"

There was a loud _thump!_

_"_Open!"

Evelyn cracked open her left eye, then her right, and she squealed with joy. "My shirts!" The cardboard box was sitting right on top of the kitchen island, a little dirty and tattered but still intact. She pulled open the flaps and looked inside. "Oh my god, they're all here!" They were in desperate need of washing, sure, but they were there: blue and beautiful and perfectly safe, not sitting in a dumpster or turned into a pile of ash. She couldn't believe it. "Patrick, how did you …?"

He shrugged like it wasn't a big deal. "I just snatched 'em outta Belch's car."

"You broke into your friend's car? Won't that make him mad?"

"Probably." The smirk on his face made her think he was counting on it. "But that's okay. I don't really consider those guys friends anyway." In fact, they were starting to bore him.

"They're not your friends?" She found that hard to believe considering the amount of time they spent together. "So, what, you guys just like standing next to each other?"

That made him chuckle. "Something like that." He put his hand on the counter and leaned in really, really close, looming over her like a predator. Evelyn didn't notice, much to his disappointment. She was too busy going through her shirts and checking for any tiny holes or tears. When she finally glanced his way, the first thing she noticed wasn't their close proximity.

No, it was the small, circular burn on his forearm.

"Oh my god." She took his arm and moved it directly under the light. The wound hadn't yet started to blister, and inside the dark pink crater, Evelyn could see tiny specs of black ash. "What happened?"

"Oh, that? Nothing." He made no attempt to pull his arm away, though. "It looks worse than it is."

"Well, it looks like hell," Evelyn said, releasing him. "You should really go to the hospital and get that checked out."

"Eh, I'm good."

"What? Look, that's a serious burn. It needs to be washed and treated before it gets infected." She hoped her words were getting through to him, but all she got in return was a blank stare. "You're really not gonna go to the hospital, are you?"

"Wasn't planning on it, no."

Evelyn sighed. She couldn't believe what she was about to say. "Well, will you at least let me clean and bandage it? I'll feel better knowing you received at least some basic care." Plus, she kind of owed him now.

He shrugged uncaringly. "Knock yourself out."

And that was how Patrick Hockstetter ended up inside her house. It didn't occur to her until much, much later that maybe—just maybe—that was his goal all along.

5

Evelyn went inside first and made sure nobody else was on the main level. Sometimes, Richie got up for a glass of water or a midnight snack, but luckily this wasn't one of those nights. She motioned for Patrick to follow, but he lingered on her doorstep, staring off down the street like there was something fascinating about the other homes.

"Hey, that's Vic's house, isn't it?" he said, making absolutely no effort to keep his voice down. "You two must be pretty close."

"Not really," she said, getting annoyed. Frankly, Victor Criss was the last person she wanted to think about right now. "Are you coming or not?"

"Sure." Patrick went inside, her box tucked under one arm, and immediately made himself comfortable. He walked right into her living room, dropped the box at his feet, and plopped himself onto her father's favorite chair. He drummed his hands along the armrests as he looked around. "Nice place. Cozy."

"Yeah. Uhh, wait down here. I'll be right back." Her mother kept some first aid supplies in the master bathroom. If she was careful enough, she could easily grab them without waking up either of her parents. She just needed Patrick to stay put and stay quiet. "And, uhh, don't steal anything, okay?"

"Got anything worth stealing?"

She paused on the third step. "No, we don't."

"Then you got nothing to worry about." He pulled the lever to make the footrest go up. "Go ahead. I'll be here, waiting patiently."

Evelyn groaned and rushed upstairs to her parents' bedroom. She couldn't have been gone for more than five minutes, but when she came back out, her bedroom door was wide open, and the light was on.

"You've gotta be kidding me."

She walked in and saw Patrick sitting on her bed with the book that Hannah-Beth had loaned her. That made her panic. Evelyn closed the door quickly and pressed her back against it. "Where did you get that?"

"It was in your backpack. It was the only interesting thing in there." Something he read made him laugh. "God, I can't believe you girls actually like this shit." He flipped to the next page. "Quivering, why is everything always quivering? Whoever wrote this has clearly never had sex."

"It's not mine." For some reason, Evelyn felt the need to point that out. "It's my friend's book. She gave it to me."

Finally, he looked up at her. "Well, sweetie, I hate to break it to you, but your first time isn't gonna be anything like this." He tossed the book aside. "In fact, it'll probably be a huge disappointment. He'll finish in like five seconds, and then you'll be left laying there, feeling nothing but deep, deep regret and utter dissatisfaction." He smirked. "Unless, of course, your first time is with someone more experienced."

"Right." She knew exactly what he was implying. If he was trying to get her all flustered, it wasn't going to work. Her little brother shot off dirty remarks like that on a daily basis. Last year, he thought it would be hilarious to give her a box of condoms for her fifteenth birthday. Grandma Beatrice nearly had a heart attack at the table.

"But," Patrick went on, "if you're really saving yourself for Mister Class President over there, your first time is almost guaranteed to be a letdown." He nodded toward the posters she'd hidden behind her door, the ones of Jake Newham. For a second, Evelyn actually forgot they were there.

Now, she was blushing.

"Newham, really?" said Patrick, his voice dripping with disgust. "That's who think about when you touch yourself at night?"

"What?" She nearly screamed. "I don't think about Jake." He was her president, her mentor, her idol. It would be wrong to think about him in such a dirty way. So very wrong.

"Okay, so who do you think about?"

"Nobody," she snapped. "I thought I told you to stay downstairs."

"You did," he said, climbing back to his feet, "but then I got curious about what your room looked like. And I'll tell you what, it's exactly like I thought it would be. Everything's so neat and tidy. Not a thing out of place." He ran his hand along the top of her dresser. "No dust, either." Then he opened the top drawer and snuck a peek inside. "Wow, you even fold your underwear. Now, that's impressive. Cute panties, by the way. Those butterflies?"

"Patrick, please get out of my underwear drawer."

"Fine." He pushed it closed and stepped away from it. "But you know what doesn't fit here, what really stumps me?" He turned around to face the wall opposite him, where dozens of postcards overlapped each other and consumed every open space above her writing desk. Denver, Seattle, Tampa; Fargo, North Dakota, wherever the hell that was. "I mean, what am I even looking at here?"

"I collect postcards."

He gave her a weird look. "What are you, an eighty-year-old man?"

"Apparently."

He didn't seem to believe her. "You're telling me you've been to all these places?"

"Some of them. Well, a couple of them. Most were just gifts from friends and family. I plan to go to all these places, though, eventually." She was saving up for it, little by little. "I just really wanna get out of Derry. I mean, who doesn't, right? This town is … depressing."

Now, he understood. "Yeah, this town's boring as shit."

"Yeah …" Evelyn went quiet as an awkward silence settled over the room. She still had the supplies in her hands. "Are you ready? It's getting late, and I'd like to get some sleep."

"Sure." He showed her his injured arm. "Stitch me up, doctor."

Evelyn sat down on her bed and laid the supplies down next to her. "Can you pull over that chair, please?"

Patrick dragged the desk chair over to her bed and sat down. Evelyn wasted no time getting started. She ripped open a packet of antiseptic wipes and started cleaning the burn as carefully as possible. Her touch was warm and gentle, but experienced. There was no hesitation at all.

"Looks like you've done this before," Patrick said, shivering when he felt the tingle of her cool breath on his skin.

"Once or twice." She pulled back and reached for the antibiotic cream. "You've got a lot of scars." Most were several years old from the look of them: burns from his lighter, a couple of chickenpox marks, some tiny cuts here and there. Others were fresher and a lot more troubling, like all the slashes on the underside of his forearm. Evelyn realized that she had been staring at those for way too long. She blushed and forced her eyes away. "Sorry."

He shrugged. "It's okay. Go ahead and look."

Evelyn didn't want to look. She proceeded to wrap his arm with a bandage and some gauze.

Patrick watched her work, amused by her childlike naivety. She didn't even realize that her robe was wide open, so whenever she bent over (like she was doing now), Patrick could see right down her pale pink camisole. Not that there was much to look at anyway. The girl was basically flat-chested. In fact, she didn't have much of a body at all. But her face was pretty enough, he supposed: soft and delicate like a doll—one of those really expensive ones that you never, ever play with because you're too afraid you might break it.

He put his hand under her chin to lift her gaze to his.

"Yes?" She blinked her glossy brown eyes at him, confused.

"Nothing. You just have pretty eyes."

"Uh, thanks." There was something unsettling about the way he was staring at her. She ripped her chin out of his grasp and sat up straight. "Well, you're all done now."

"That was quick." He hid his displeasure behind a smile. "So what's the prognosis, doc? Will I live?"

"Yeah, you should be fine, but if you notice any signs of infection, you'll need to go to the doctor."

He brushed her off. "I'm sure it won't get infected."

"But if it does, you'll go to the doctor, right?"

"Would that make you happy?"

"Sure, I guess."

"Then I'll go."

"Okay." She glanced down and saw that his hand was on her knee. It was time for Patrick to go now. She shook his hand away and stood up. "I'll show you out." Evelyn wasn't one to forget her manners, not even for someone like Patrick Hockstetter. Her parents raised her better than that.

She stood on the porch to see him off. "Thanks again for getting my shirts back, Patrick. You have no idea how much I appreciate it."

Patrick was leaning against the railing. "Well, I didn't exactly do it for free."

Evelyn noticed a strange shift in his tone. It wasn't playful and flirty anymore; it was almost … threatening.

"What are you doing this weekend?" he asked.

"What?" Evelyn struggled to choke out a laugh. "You're kidding, right?"

On the contrary, he looked completely serious. "Why would I joke about something like that?"

Evelyn tried to stay calm. _He's just trying to get a reaction out of you. He wants to see you squirm. Don't give him that satisfaction. _"Look, Patrick, I'm flattered, but I don't really have time for dating, okay? I've got a lot going on with school and student council and everything. Besides, I'm pretty sure I'm not your type, and you're definitely not mine, so …"

That came out a lot harsher than she intended, but Patrick didn't seem to mind. In fact, he didn't seem to care at all. He shrugged. "Well, it was worth a shot," and he made a clicking sound with his tongue. "See you around, Evelyn."

Patrick whistled as he walked off into the darkness, and Evelyn thought he had taken that rejection a little too well.

Maybe it was a joke, after all. With Patrick, it was impossible to tell.

She turned to head back inside, then stopped. "Wait a second." Something wasn't right. "He said he was waiting for the lights to go out. That's why he got bored. Why would he be waiting for the lights to go out?" Evelyn shuddered at the thought. "What a creep."

Before going to bed, Evelyn went around making sure all the doors and windows were tightly locked. Then she checked them again for good measure.


	8. Chapter 8

1

Evelyn couldn't stop yawning at the breakfast table. Thanks to Patrick Hockstetter, she didn't get to bed until almost two o'clock in the morning. It had been a restless sleep, too: shallow and riddled with strange dreams. One startled her awake during the night and had her clutching her chest in terror. She dreamed that Patrick was in her bedroom, watching her while she slept, grey-green eyes glowing in the moonlight. The vividness of it left her shuddering beneath her blankets. She had to get up and make sure that her window was still locked.

Naturally, it was.

Of course, it seemed silly to her now, being so afraid of a little nightmare. As if Patrick was really capable of breaking into someone's house.

"Oh, look, a new Chinese restaurant is opening up in town," Mr. Tozier said, nose-deep in the morning paper. Beside him, Richie was halfway through a shortstack of buttermilk pancakes drenched in maple syrup. "Huh. Might be worth a try. What do you think, dear?"

Mrs. Tozier slowly sipped her coffee, her hair a tangled mess of pillow-smushed curls. "Yeah, maybe." Then to Richie she said, "I think you've got enough syrup there."

"It's never enough." Richie had the bottle in his hand, smirking in mid-pour. The swelling in his face had gone down considerably, but the deep reddish-purple bruises were more visible than ever.

Mrs. Tozier sighed. "I give up with this one."

"That's why we had two." Mr. Tozier peeked over his newspaper. "Evie, eat your food before it gets cold."

"Huh? Oh, sorry." Her next yawn was so big it hurt her jaw. Evelyn picked up her fork and immediately put it back down, eyes watering with fatigue. It took every ounce of her willpower to keep from resting her head upon those soft, buttery pancakes and going to sleep. They looked so warm and inviting.

"Hey, wake up!" Richie said.

A strawberry bounced off her cheek, and Evelyn jolted upright in her chair.

"Don't throw food at the table, please." Mrs. Tozier lowered her coffee mug and looked at her daughter with worry. "Are you feeling okay, honey?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little tired, that's all." Evelyn cut into her stack and forced herself to eat while her parents continued to stare. "I was up studying for a history quiz, and I must have lost track of time. Sorry, it won't happen again."

"It's okay," said Mrs. Tozier. "Just be careful, you know? Sleep is important, especially at your age."

"Yeah, I know."

"Speaking of sleep." Mr. Tozier laid down the paper and turned a stern eye upon his son. "You need to stop falling asleep with your TV on so loud, pal. Damned thing woke me up twice last night."

Evelyn froze in her seat, wondering what else her father might have heard. Hopefully, not Patrick. Please, please, not Patrick. She reached for her orange juice and gulped the whole thing down, pulp and all.

"What are you talking about?" Richie said. "It wasn't loud. I never have it loud."

"Well, then you need you to get your hearing checked, buddy, because it was _loud_."

"You shouldn't have it on at all," Mrs. Tozier pointed out while she cut her pancakes into neat squares, "unless you're prepared to pay your portion of the electric bill. Your background noise is costing us a small fortune."

Richie rolled his eyes. "Take it out of my allowance, then."

"Well, we just might."

Evelyn glanced at her wristwatch. It was almost 7:45. Perfect timing. "Well, I better go catch the bus." She stood and pushed in her chair. "Thanks for breakfast, Mom."

"But you hardly ate."

"I know, but I don't wanna be late. Busy day ahead of me, you know." She hooked her backpack on her shoulder and started towards the door with a startling sense of urgency. "Bye, Mom. Bye, Dad. Richie, I'll see you at school."

She was gone before any of them could say goodbye.

Richie scraped her leftover pancakes onto his plate with his fork. "_Teenagers_. Am I right?"

Mr. Tozier chuckled behind his newspaper while his wife gave her morning coffee a slow, pensive stir.

Something was off.

2

Evelyn boarded the bus a little less energetic than usual, but she remembered her courtesies.

First, she gave the bus driver his daily good-morning greeting, to which he replied, "And what's so good about it, huh?" Then she complimented Deena Knopp's new perm (though, she had to admit, it did make her look a bit like a poodle), picked up Bryan Holzworth's chemistry book and returned it to him, and solved a spirited debate between two freshmen who were arguing over who was the better superhero: Batman or Superman. Evelyn hardly knew either of them, so she picked the one Paul Colborne was always going on about at lunch: "Uhh, Batman."

When that was all settled, she arrived at Kriss Andrew's seat just in time to receive a very passionate, "Fuck off, Tozier!"

Evelyn didn't even flinch.

"Ah, we're back to that again," she muttered, carrying on with a resigned smile. "So much for progress." A few kids were snickering in their seats, but she paid them no mind. Let them laugh, she thought. One day, all her efforts were bound to pay off. She just had to be patient.

She plopped down next to Hannah-Beth Stokes, who had her nose buried in the same book she had been reading yesterday. It must have been a really steamy part, too, because Hannah-Beth couldn't tear herself away long enough to say a simple hello.

"Oh, that reminds me," said Evelyn as she reached into her backpack. "Here, Hannah, you can have your book back."

That got her attention. "What?" Hannah-Beth frowned, lowering her book to her lap. "You … didn't like it? Did I pick the wrong one? There are others, if you prefer, with different storylines. All kinds, really. There's something for everyone. I'm sorry, I should have asked you before. What do you like? Cowboys? Pirates? Rockstars? Or maybe you like the mature, sophisticated type?" She paused for a moment, thinking. "Hmm, you know, I have one about a painter and his muse that's pretty good. Would you like that one?"

A nervous laugh escaped Evelyn's mouth before she could stop it. J_eez, how many of these books does she have? _She pictured a secret library full of erotica in her best friend's bedroom and then shook the thought away. "You know, that's not really necessary. Don't get me wrong, they all sound great—really—but I just don't think those kinda books are my thing." She shrugged her shoulders, as if to say, _Oh, well. _

"I see." Hannah-Beth reluctantly took the book back into her care. "Too scandalous for you, huh? You prefer a more innocent kind of love because you're so inexperienced. I understand completely."

"Thank you," Evelyn said. "Yes, I prefer innocent stories. Fantasy. Sci-fi. Fairytales."

Hannah-Beth nodded. "Children's stories."

"Well," Evelyn started, her voice ringing high with disagreement. Innocent as they were, her literary interests could hardly be described as childish. And what was with all that "inexperienced" stuff? Hannah-Beth was just as_ inexperienced_ as she was, probably even more so, given her strict upbringing.

Of course, before Evelyn could say any of that, Hannah-Beth put a tender, almost motherly hand on her shoulder and said so sweetly, "Don't worry, Evelyn, you'll mature eventually. We all go at our own pace."

That's when Evelyn decided to take a deep breath and let it go. It just wasn't worth bickering over.

"So," Hannah-Beth went on, "did you get the shirts back?"

Evelyn perked up. "I did, actually." They would need a good washing, but Evelyn was confident they could go back on the market before the week's end. And this time she would sell them, all of them.

"That's great!" said Hannah-Beth, breathing a sigh of relief. "You know, I was so worried when you said you were gonna talk to Henry Bowers alone. I mean, that just sounded like such a bad idea. But, hey, I guess it worked out, huh?"

"Yup. It all worked out, _more or less._"

Evelyn had mumbled the last part, but Hannah-Beth heard her anyway.

"Oh? Did something happen?" She gasped suddenly and clasped her hand over her mouth. Then she got really quiet and checked to make sure nobody was eavesdropping.

Nobody was. Nobody cared.

When she was certain it was safe, she pulled Evelyn closer and whispered into her ear, "You didn't have to _do _anything for them, did you?"

Evelyn slowly pulled away. "Do what? What are you even …?"

Hannah-Beth wiggled her eyebrows, obviously hinting at something.

Something very dirty.

It took Evelyn less than a second to connect the dots.

"Eww, no!" Evelyn shrieked, making everyone around her stop and stare. Hannah-Beth blushed and ducked down when a freshman boy looked her way.

"N-Never mind," she uttered. "It was a stupid question."

"Hannah, why would you …? Like I would ever!" Evelyn's face was on fire, and she could hardly get a word out. "Look, things got a little messy, but that's all. Besides, who even cares? All that matters is that I got the shirts back."

With a loud huff, Evelyn folded her arms over her chest and turned around to face the front. Hannah-Beth did too, but she continued to secretly watch her friend out of the corner of her eye. Evelyn kept rubbing her cheeks with her fist, as if that would help make the redness go away.

Hannah-Beth giggled gently into her hand. _She's so innocent_, she thought, a small smile spreading across her face. Then she flipped open her book and continued where she'd left off, eager to get back to the hunky Marceau Deschamps and his chateau of forbidden pleasure.

Hannah-Beth finished another tantalizing chapter before they arrived at school; then she had no choice but to put it away. She kissed the cover and carefully slipped the book into her backpack. "Until next time, my sweet Marceau."

The other students were already crowding the aisle, waiting for the bus driver to open the door and let them off. Hannah-Beth was about to join them, but Evelyn grabbed her arm as soon as she went to stand.

"Hey, Hannah," she said, her voice timid and unsure, "I didn't force my friendship on you, did I?"

Hannah-Beth lowered herself back down. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, … if I hadn't gone out of my way to talk to you, would we be friends?"

That was a strange question. Hannah-Beth had to think about it for a second. "Well, you were very persistent."

The two had only spent a single afternoon together, but Evelyn made it very clear that she intended to pursue a longterm friendship. Soon, she was inviting Hannah-Beth everywhere: to sleepovers and pool parties, intimate dinners with her family. They went from total strangers to best friends in less than a week, and Hannah-Beth barely had to make an effort. With anyone else, it might have been creepy, but with Evelyn, it felt perfectly natural. She was just so warm and inviting, like a cozy pair of socks.

"But yeah," she went on, "I guess you could say that. Why?"

"Oh," Evelyn said, her voice falling flat. "I'm sorry. That must have been really annoying."

Hannah-Beth started to panic. "Oh, no, I didn't mean it like that! I'm glad you went out of your way to befriend me, honestly. Nobody else did. I had just moved to town, and I didn't have any friends, and you know how shy I am. … If you hadn't approached me that day, well, I don't know what would have happened." It made her sad just thinking about it. "I would have been lonely and miserable. High school would have been a total nightmare."

"Really?" Evelyn asked, hopeful.

"Of course! Why are you asking such weird things anyway?" It wasn't like her to doubt herself.

She gave a bashful shrug. "Oh, it's nothing. Just something somebody said, I guess. Made me second-guess myself a little."

"Well, whoever said that is an idiot."

That made Evelyn laugh. "Yes, he is."

At the front of the bus, Mr. Healy was standing with his hands on his hips. "You girls getting off or what? I can't stay here all damn day, you know. Even I got places to be."

The girls stood up at the same time. "Sorry, Mr. Healy."

3

Evelyn spent most of her first period studying for Mr. Durbridge's history quiz: going over the bullet points she'd jotted down the night before and committing everything to memory. According to Paul Colborne, there was a fifty percent chance that Evelyn was cramming for nothing. Abner Durbridge had a legendary habit of forgetting to give most of the quizzes he had planned.

"And if you remind him," Paul had threatened in the hallway, "I will murder you, Evelyn. So help me God, I will murder you!"

Evelyn stood her ground. "Hey, it's not my fault you were up all night playing video games instead of studying. I prepared for this, Paul—I put in the work—so believe me, there will be a quiz!"

Paul cursed and called her a brown noser, but Evelyn didn't mind. It wasn't the first time she'd been called that, and it wouldn't be the last. She wasn't about to slack her way through high school like everyone else.

As she reached for her highlighter, something small landed on her desk, making her pull her hand back in surprise. It was a piece of pencil eraser, smeared with lead and covered with tiny holes. Evelyn glanced over her shoulder and saw Patrick Hockstetter sitting back with his dirty boots on the desk while he thoughtlessly drummed a chewed-up pencil against the wood. He looked at her and smiled.

"Feet on the floor, Mr. Hockstetter," said Mrs. Sitz. "I won't say it again."

Patrick complied, putting one foot down and then the other. Evelyn turned back around and swept away the debris with her hand. _Just ignore him_, she thought. _Just ignore him, and he'll go away._

Then the school secretary's voice came over the intercom, capturing everyone's attention:

_"__Will the following students please report to Principal Hellyer's office immediately: Henry Bowers, Victor Criss, Patrick Hockstetter, and Reginald Huggins. Thank you."_

The announcement sent chills down Evelyn's spine. She felt like she was about to be sick. Had her father really called the school? No, he couldn't have.

The excited chatter came next, filling the room with a frantic energy that was almost electric. Mrs. Sitz had to stand up and call for silence, but the gossip persisted anyway, reduced to hushed exchanges between neighbors.

"Someone's in trouble," said Marcia Silcott with a wicked grin. "I wonder what they did this time."

Evelyn shot her a sideways glare, but Marcia didn't care. She rolled her eyes and whispered something into April Nilsen's ear that made her bust into a fit of giggles.

Mrs. Sitz made a gesture with her hand. "Go on, Mr. Hockstetter."

Patrick was already out of his chair. "See ya guys later," he called over his shoulder, and he slapped the top of the doorframe as he walked out.

He had been gone for less than a minute before Evelyn's hand shot up. "Mrs. Sitz, may I please go to the office? I, uh, I just remembered I was supposed to pick up something from Mr. Burke, for student council. It's really important."

"Of course, Evelyn." Mrs. Sitz had no reason to suspect her. After all, Evelyn Tozier was a stand-up kid. "Don't forget to take a hall pass."

Evelyn grabbed one of the laminated passes and ran out of the classroom.

For a second, Evelyn felt terrible about lying to her teacher. Mrs. Sitz would have been disappointed if she ever found out, probably look at her a little differently, too, and say something like, "I just expected more from you, Evelyn, that's all. I thought you were better than that."

But she was better than that. Really, she was. This was just too important. Hopefully, Mrs. Sitz would understand that.

Evelyn flew down the staircase, her white sneakers trampling the worn rubber treads, and when she touched down on the landing, she heard a familiar voice.

"And just where do you think you're going?" Patrick Hockstetter was reclining comfortably on the windowsill, legs stretched out while he played with the lighter that he wasn't supposed to have in school. Evelyn wondered how he'd snuck it past Principal Hellyer and then realized it didn't matter. He gave her a playful look. "Say, you're not cutting class, are you?"

She flashed her hall pass like it was a police badge.

"Of course." Patrick swung his long legs over the ledge and faced her. "You know, my arm's doing a lot better now." She believed him, but he showed her anyway. The burn seemed to be healing just fine. "See?" he said. "No infection. Told you I didn't need a doctor."

"Well, I'm glad. Try not to burn yourself again."

That made him smirk. He gave the wheel a flick and sparked a new flame. "Well, if I do, guess I'll just have to pay you another visit, huh?" He had his opposite hand over the lighter now, fingertips dancing dangerously close to the flame.

Evelyn shuddered. "I'd rather you didn't, Patrick. Now, if you'll excuse me—"

"Why don't you wanna go out with me?"

His abruptness caught her off guard. "I already told you, Patrick. I don't have the time."

"Sure you do. Even a busybody like you has to take a break every now and then, right? Otherwise, you'll have a nervous breakdown or something. But I'm not your type." He frowned and slapped the lighter closed. "See, I don't believe in all that bullshit. Why would anyone want to limit themselves like that? That just sounds so _boring._ As for me, I'm a simple guy: I like who I like, and right now I've decided I like you."

"You've _decided_ you like me?" Was that supposed to be flattering? Evelyn held in a laugh. "Patrick, yesterday you didn't even know who I was, and now all of a sudden you like me? I'm sorry, but I have to call bullshit."

"Oh, really?" His bright blue eyes shimmered with amusement. "Guess I'll have to prove you wrong then."

"What? No, that wasn't a challenge, Patrick." Was he even listening to her? Sometimes it seemed like Patrick was in his own little world and only heard what he wanted to hear. "Look, I wasn't kidding when I said I was busy, okay? Now I really have to go."

She resumed her descent, but then paused briefly on the third step. "Hey, shouldn't you be heading to the principal's office? They called your name, didn't they?"

She knew they had, but Patrick didn't seem to care. He dropped down from the ledge and stuffed the lighter back into his pocket. "Eh, if Hellyer wants to talk to me so bad, he can come find me himself. I've got better things to do."

He left after that, tossing her a wave as he climbed up the stairs and disappeared from view. He was probably going off to find an empty classroom to nap in. Lenny said he did that sometimes. Apparently, he did other things in empty classrooms, too, but Evelyn didn't want to think about _those_ things.

She carried on in a hurry.

Victor Criss and Belch Huggins were outside the main office when Evelyn arrived. Belch was sitting in front of the lockers with his head thrown back, cap pulled all the way down to cover his eyes. Vic seemed less calm as he paced back and forth.

"I'm fucked," Vic said. "God, I'm so fucked. Three weeks of detention, including two Saturdays? My mom's gonna flip when she finds out."

"Yep," said Belch grimly, like he'd already accepted his fate. "I can pretty much kiss my keys goodbye." No more jamming out with Vic after school. No more late-night drives with Christie Gibson, watching the wind blow through her blonde hair. His pride and joy would be stuck in the garage until his mother was kind enough to forgive him.

It could have been worse, though, much worse. Principal Hellyer had gone easy on the two of them because, individually, they were actually decent students. Sure, Victor Criss was a little moody and withdrawn, preferring to keep to himself rather than interact with his classmates, but he turned in all his assignments on time and received high marks. As for Reginald Huggins, he wasn't a top student by any means, but he was well-mannered and agreeable. Paul Colborne even said that he was a surprisingly dependable lab partner.

No, they weren't bad kids, just a little misguided. In fact, Principal Hellyer had used their meeting to reach out to the boys one last time and steer them in the right direction before they were too far gone.

Before they ended up like Henry Bowers.

He was the last to come out of the principal's office. Evelyn heard him before she saw him. There was a loud slam, a muffled cry from the secretary, and then Henry yelled, "Eat shit!" before bursting through the door.

Evelyn hid herself in the stairway, huddling against the wall, too afraid to face him in his current state. The others looked uncomfortable, too, but Henry didn't seem to notice them. He looked lost. His hands were in his hair, combing and pulling in blind frustration as he stared at the floor, eerily quiet.

Belch broke the silence. He lifted his visor to look at him. "What'd you get, Henry? Three weeks? Four?"

Henry whirled and kicked the lockers so hard he left a dent.

"Hey, it's okay, man," said Belch. "We all got detention."

No. Evelyn shook her head, a knot forming in her stomach. Wasn't it obvious? Vic and Belch got detention because they were otherwise good kids, while Henry—

There was another loud _whack!_ This time, Henry had buried his fist in the drywall.

Belch got to his feet. "Jesus, Henry, chill out!"

Panting, Henry backed away from the wall. His knuckles were scraped and bleeding. Sweat was running down the back of his neck. Vic and Belch were standing behind him, wearing matching expressions of horror, but neither of them said a word. It wouldn't have mattered.

"Fuck this shit," Henry spat, his voice a hoarse whisper, and he turned and tore down the hallway.

Evelyn pushed herself off the wall and ran after him.

4

There was a police car parked outside the school's main entrance. Officer Oscar "Butch" Bowers stood in front of it, leaning back against the hood with his arms folded over his chest. The bright morning sun glinted off his police badge. A pair of aviators shielded his eyes. And, oh, did he have frightening eyes. In the right light, they were as bright a blue as his son's, but in the wrong light, they got colder and darker, so dark they almost appeared black.

To his son, they always looked black.

Henry was still behind the double doors, hand on the push bar, beginning a light thrust that died as soon as he spotted his father's car. That's when Evelyn came up behind him. Her footsteps pattered off into a quiet shuffle as she moved closer to him, hesitant and probably a little afraid. He didn't turn to look at her. He didn't want to.

But she talked anyway because that's what the Toziers were good at.

"Henry," she said, her voice breaking with fatigue. "Why?"

Why? Henry wondered about that, too. Not at the time, of course, but a long while after, when the sun had already sunk behind the hills and the trees, and Henry was alone in his room, listening to the sounds of his father's television playing downstairs. That was when he found himself thinking about it, right before he reached for the phone.

"I dunno," he said as his bloody knuckles began to ache. He pushed hard on the door and walked out.

Evelyn stayed behind, watching him through the water-spotted window. Officer Bowers stepped away from the car when he saw his son approaching. The sunglasses came off in one smooth motion, and his stance shifted to expose the holstered pistol on his hip. Henry's posture changed, too, shrinking to that of a small, cowering child. Seeing him like that made Evelyn's heart swell with guilt. Their exchange was brief. Butch said a few words, and Henry only nodded in response, unable to hold his gaze. Then Butch made a gesture with his head, ordering him to get in the car, and Henry obeyed.

Before leaving himself, Butch surveyed the school one last time. Evelyn thought he might have seen her in the window because—and maybe she'd just imagined it—he seemed to almost smile. It wasn't a warm, friendly smile or even a polite acknowledgment, just this slight curl of the lips that made Evelyn feel uneasy.

She left as the car pulled away.

5

As Evelyn walked down the long, long hallway, it occurred to her that she probably should have hurried back to class. It had been a long time since she left, much longer than Mrs. Sitz or any other teacher would consider reasonable, and yet she couldn't bring herself to care.

She took her time in the restroom, splashed some water on her face and fixed her hair. There was a girl in the very last stall. She had been there when Evelyn entered and seemed to be taking an awfully long time. Evelyn knocked gently on the door and asked her if she was okay.

There was a quiet sniff, a rustle of fabric, and the girl stepped out of the stall with her backpack slung over her shoulder. It was one of the seventh-grade girls, a redhead whose name Evelyn couldn't remember. She had caught her smoking in the bathroom a few times. "You know, that's a nasty habit," Evelyn had said, but she promised not to rat her out. The girl wore the same scowl that she had now, like Evelyn's very presence was irritating.

Today, she brushed past without a word.

It bothered Evelyn more than it should have. Girls that age always blew her off when she tried to be kind. Normally, it would just roll off her back, and she would take a deep breath and move on. But today, as exhausted as she was, it took all her strength to keep from screaming.

She bent down to pick up some trash, then washed her hands and walked out of the bathroom.

Miss Stoker, the school secretary, was typing away on the computer when Evelyn entered the office. "Oh, hello, Evelyn!" she said with a wide, toothy smile. "What can I do for you today?"

"Is Principal Hellyer in his office? I really need to speak with him."

"Yes, but he's awfully busy right now, dear. Let's see, let's see…" She looked at her appointment book, finger trailing down the page. "Yeah, he's gonna be busy for most of the day, I'm afraid. And he's got that meeting at three. Hmm … Well, you know what, I can take a message if you'd like. Just give me one second." She pushed off the floor, making her chair roll backwards and spin, and snatched a stack of papers off the table behind her. "Sorry, hun, it's been chaos here all morning, and it doesn't help that Jill called out sick again. That's three times this month. Oh, but you probably don't care about that." Laughing, she licked her thumb and flipped to the next page. "I did hear about what happened to your little brother, though. Poor dear. I do hope he's okay."

Evelyn inched forward slowly, staring at Miss Stoker's back the whole time. "Yeah, he's fine. Thank you."

"If you ask me, he should have suspended all four of them. Little punks."

Two more quick steps and Evelyn bolted for it.

Principal Hellyer's door was closed but not locked. Evelyn knocked twice and then walked in, quietly shutting the door behind her. Outside, Miss Stoker was still mumbling away at the front desk, completely unaware.

She found the principal at his desk, a ballpoint pen in his hand and the phone against his ear. He glanced once in Evelyn's direction and then immediately said to the person on the other end, "You know what, I'm gonna have to call you back. How's tomorrow sound? … Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Okay, perfect, I'll call you first thing tomorrow. Uh-huh. You too, ma'am. Buh-bye."

He hung up the phone, scribbled one last sentence, and then clicked his pen. "Hello, Evelyn. Is it Thursday already?"

She had a standing appointment with him every Thursday during her homeroom period, to keep him updated on the needs of her fellow_ classmates _(he had to stress that word; otherwise, she would go back to calling them her _constituents_, which they were not). She had exactly thirty minutes of uninterrupted floor time before he cut her off and sent her back to class. As unconventional as it was, it sure beat having her knocking on his door at all hours of the day … or calling his house.

But today wasn't Thursday.

"What is it now, Evelyn?" he asked. "Does the drama club need a brand new theater?"

"No." The arts were severely underfunded in her school, but that was an issue better left for their Thursday morning meeting. "I wanted to talk about Henry Bowers, actually. I heard you suspended him today, and I'd really like for you to reconsider."

The principal sighed, sinking into his chair. "Look, Evelyn—"

"If this is about what happened to my brother, he's fine, really. A couple of bruises, but that's it. Richie's a tough kid."

"You may be right, Evelyn, but you have to understand—"

"You can't suspend him. Please, Principal Hellyer, just listen to me. Henry won't be able to keep up with his assignments, and he'll fall behind _again_, and he's gonna get held back _again_, only this time he won't bother coming back at all. He'll just drop out."

"Well, that may not be his choice."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, before the end of his suspension, the school board will be holding a hearing to determine his status as a student here moving forward."

Evelyn swallowed hard. "Meaning you're planning on expelling him?"

"Perhaps."

"Oh my god," she whispered as a hundred horrible thoughts raced through her mind at once. She had to grip the chair in front of her to keep herself upright. "You can't expel him. I know I keep saying that, but you really, really can't. Henry needs to be in school. He needs to graduate." Otherwise, well, there was no telling what would happen to him.

"He hardly goes to class as it is, Evelyn." The principal was on his feet now, coming towards her with open arms. "Now, I admire what you're doing here, making every student your priority, but kids like Henry, well, they're just a lost cause."

"No, that's not it—"

His hand fell on her shoulder: gentle but firm, guiding her towards the door. Evelyn couldn't resist him. Her legs refused to move.

"Nobody will hold this against you, I promise," he said. "One rotten apple won't spoil the bunch, okay? We all think you're doing a great job in student council, Evelyn, and we look forward to what you'll do in the future, okay? Don't let this get you down."

"But—" Her mouth opened and closed helplessly. The words wouldn't come out, but inside she was screaming at the top of her lungs. Why wouldn't anyone listen to her?

The wooden doorframe passed overhead, and she could hear Principal Hellyer talking, but his voice sounded like a muffled garble of words. Radio static. Evelyn turned back to say something, but he cut her off with one last push. The final sendoff. Then the door closed with a soft click, and Evelyn was left standing in the hallway, staring at a wall of pictures and plaques.

"Oh, there you are," said Miss Stoker from the front desk. "Young lady, that was very inappropriate."

This wasn't over, Evelyn decided once her head had finally cleared. She would be back on Thursday.


	9. Chapter 9

1

Evelyn was late for her second-period algebra class.

Victor Criss saw her stumble in two minutes after the bell rang, a stack of books and notebooks spilling out of her arms. She dumped them all on the desk behind him and sat down. Somehow, the next minute felt like an hour. Vic waited for her to start talking, to start yelling at him like she had the day before, but she didn't say a word to anyone, not even to Seth McFadden, who once again proved incapable of completing an assignment on his own. Moron. When Evelyn politely refused to help him, mumbling some excuse about not finishing herself, he turned to Victor for help.

"How about you do your own work, dipshit?" Vic hissed through gritted teeth. "We're all getting sick of carrying your ass."

Seth's face paled, and he retreated. "Whoa. Sorry, man."

Mr. Grumley came into the classroom after that. He set down his thermos and brown leather satchel and told everybody to pass yesterday's assignment to the front. Vic ripped his out of his notebook and then reached back for Evelyn's. Her paper was neatly torn and free of any smudges or smears. Even her handwriting was perfect: dainty and easy to read, but Evelyn had always possessed annoyingly pretty handwriting, and she was really proud of it, too. Back in elementary school, she used to practice her penmanship by writing letters to people she knew. Vic had received well over a dozen, and his mother kept them all in an old shoebox because, as she put it, they were just too cute to throw away. Vic had always hated them. They smelled flowery and feminine and never contained any valuable information, only childish ramblings about her thoughts and feelings. What was a seven-year-old boy supposed to do with that?

Then one day they suddenly stopped, and it was awfully strange coming home to an empty mailbox. Vic thought he had done something wrong.

Of course, this time was different. This time Vic knew exactly what he had done wrong, and he wasn't sure if Evelyn would ever forgive him for it.

Mr. Grumley began his lecture by wheeling out the overhead projector. "From what it sounds like, quite a few of you struggled with yesterday's assignment. That's perfectly fine. Let's work through a few more equations together, okay? If you have any questions, be sure to speak up. We'll be building on this as we move forward, so it's really important that everyone feels comfortable with these. Andrew, can you hit the lights?" He switched on the projector and got his marker ready. "All right, this should look familiar, right? I took it directly from your assignment."

Vic settled into the darkness and pulled out his old, chewed-up pencil, which by now was little more than a nub. Instead of working on the equation like everyone else (because it was a simple quadratic that anybody in that class should have been able to solve), Vic started drafting his apology letter to Evelyn. He had no intention of ever delivering it to her, of course, but he needed to organize his thoughts and put them on paper before they drove him insane.

_I'm an asshole.  
I'm an idiot.  
But you have to know I didn't mean it._

Halfway through the letter, his thoughts started to betray him. What started out as an apology note quickly turned into something vicious and hateful, and he couldn't believe the words he had written—the words he was still writing even though he wanted so desperately to stop.

_Lying,  
Pathetic,  
Hypocrite,  
I thought you were better than that!_

She had gone running after him. Him, of all people, the guy who had just terrorized her little brother over a couple of stupid shirts. Was she really so blind? Henry wasn't sorry, not even a little bit. He would do it again if he could. And Evelyn would defend him again because she was just that clueless.

_Stupid,  
Naive,  
Wh—_

_Crack! _Vic's pencil tip snapped under the pressure. He gasped, letting the pencil slip out of his hand and roll off the desk, but the unfinished word remained on the page. It would haunt him forever. Why had he written that? It wasn't true. Evelyn was many things but never that ugly word.

Vic tore out the whole thing and shoved it between the pages of his math book. Then he realized he needed a new pencil.

Evelyn was scribbling away behind him, eyes flickering back and forth between her notebook and the screen as she followed along with the teacher. Vic had snuck a look at her once (a quick over-the-shoulder glance that he could easily pass off as nothing), but he couldn't bring himself to speak to her. As soon as her eyes met his, his mouth went dry, and he spun back around.

The school year had started out like this. When Mr. Grumley announced the seating chart on the first day of class, Victor thought he was in for the most uncomfortable semester of his life. Sharing a class with Evelyn was bad enough, but to have her sitting behind him was a special kind of torture. The constant stares. The hopeful smiles. The endless fidgeting. She would show up early and stay late, hanging out by the door until Vic was ready to leave. It was like they were kids again, and she was starved for his attention.

For the first two weeks, Vic had no problem avoiding her. Then, one fateful Friday, Vic realized he had forgotten to bring a pencil on a test day, and he felt a light tap on his shoulder. There was Evelyn, holding out a brand new number-two pencil like it was an olive branch.

Vic couldn't help but think about that moment as he faced her now.

"Hey, Ev," he whispered, "do you have an extra pencil I can borrow?"

Without even looking at him, she tossed him a pencil and went back to what she was doing.

Disappointment darkened his face. "Thanks."

When class was over, Victor found himself staying behind while Evelyn sluggishly gathered her things. He made a big deal about returning her pencil, but she told him to keep it because she had plenty of others. Vic didn't know whether to be grateful or offended.

Mr. Grumley was cleaning the chalkboard in preparation for his next class. He told them not to dawdle, but he didn't care enough to force them out.

Vic sat down on top of his desk. "Hey, thanks again for telling my mom that I smoke."

"Oh?" Her voice was thin. "Did she ground you?"

"Worse, actually. She's decided to play the martyr, like she always does. Totally blames herself. She thinks I'm acting out because we don't spend enough quality time together as a family. So now we're gonna have family night once a week. Do a puzzle or some shit like that." He shrugged. "We'll see how long that lasts. I give it a month tops before we all get sick of it."

Evelyn scoffed. "Well, I'm sorry you have to spend time with your family."

She might as well have slapped him in the face.

By the time they left the classroom, the period change was well underway. Lockers clanged open and closed. Gum popped. Zippers zipped. Sneakers scuttled and squeaked against the vinyl tile. Someone had spilled something on the floor; Vic could feel the stickiness on the bottom of his shoes as he walked. Evelyn was a few steps ahead of him, weaving seamlessly through the traffic with her books in hand. Vic almost ran into a freshman heading in the opposite direction.

"Hey, watch where you're going!" the kid shouted. Vic went to yell something back, but he was already gone.

In the eighth-grade locker area, papers got passed around and copied until a teacher came and snatched them away. Moans. Groans. Giggles. A hundred hurried conversations seemed to be happening all at once, and Vic felt like his head was about to explode. He reached for Evelyn's arm, desperate to make it stop.

"What do you want from me, Ev?" Vic said. "Do you wanna yell at me? Huh? Hit me? Go ahead, I deserve it." Anything was better than the silent treatment she was currently giving him. "Please, Evelyn."

He was relieved when she stopped. That relief grew to gratitude when she kindly pulled him to the side, where it was quiet, where he could think properly. She gave him a second to compose himself before talking.

"I don't wanna do anything to you, Vic." Her words were gentle but painful, nevertheless. "Right now, I just wanna go to class. Okay? Can I do that?"

The crowd was starting to thin as the classrooms filled back up. The last stragglers came running by. Evelyn sighed. She would be late again. Her next class was on the other side of the school.

Still, Vic couldn't let her go. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? You know I didn't mean what I said. I was just tired and pissed off, and I took it out on you. I'm sorry, really."

"Okay. Can I go now?"

"No, you can't. Just—" He paused, dragging his fingers through his blond hair. "Do you want me to get your shirts back? Would that make you forgive me? I'll get them back for you, right now if you want." It would be easy now, Vic thought, with Bowers gone. Belch wouldn't fight him on it. He would be glad to see them go.

"I already got them back, Vic. Patrick dropped them off last night."

"What?" A nasty shock sparked through him. "Patrick did? Why would Patrick do that?"

"I dunno. And honestly I don't care."

She tried to go, but Vic yanked her back and held her by her shoulders. His dark brown eyes bore down on her with a frightening intensity.

"You said Patrick has been messing with you, right?" he said. "What exactly has he been doing?"

Evelyn seemed to shrink a little in his grasp. "I dunno," she said uneasily. "Patrick things, I guess. He keeps trying to get me to go out with him, and he refuses to take no for an answer. But whatever, it'll stop soon enough. He's just bored, like always, and now he's decided to pester me to pass the time. I'm not too worried about it."

That was her first mistake.

"Look," Vic said firmly, "you need to stay away from Patrick, okay? He's not _right_."

Evelyn rolled her eyes. "Everyone knows he's not right. Patrick's a perverted creep."

"I'm serious, Ev! Stay away from him."

Now her anger was back, burning hotter than ever. "Let go of me, Vic," she said before pushing him away. "You don't get to do that. You don't get to play the overprotective asshole whenever it suits you. Where was that guy when my brother needed him? Huh?" She sneered. "We're not friends. You made that perfectly clear yesterday. So stay away from me, okay? I can take care of myself."

The third-period bell burred above their heads. Evelyn cursed under her breath and stormed off.

Vic didn't care if he was late to class. It was the period he often skipped anyway, so did it really matter if he was on time?

Belch was waiting for him by his locker. "Is it bad that I still wanna skip third period?" he asked. "I mean, what are they gonna do, give me another week of detention? Old Man Durbridge probably doesn't know I'm gone. I don't even think he even takes attendance."

"He doesn't." Vic used to skip his classes all the time. "As long as you show up for the tests, he doesn't give a shit." He searched around for his English book and couldn't find it. It was probably back at his house, either under his bed or on the floor, buried under a pile of dirty clothes.

Well, shit, he thought, maybe he was better off skipping.

Belch gestured with his chin. "Look who it is."

Patrick Hockstetter was approaching with that same lanky stride. He stopped at a random locker and started fumbling around with the padlock. A few spins here, a quick twist there, and the lock popped off without a hitch. Vic wondered what sophomore girl was dumb enough to give Hockstetter her locker combination.

The door swung open, and he started digging through the girl's purse. "So I heard the old Hellraiser decided to give you guys detention, huh? Man, that sucks." His wandering hands seized a small perfume bottle. He gave it a few spritzes, sniffed the air, and then tossed it aside before diving back in. "Told ya we should've just junked those shirts when we had the chance."

"What are you talking about?" said Belch while Patrick claimed a pair of cat-eyed sunglasses. "You're gonna get detention, too, dumbass. You can't avoid Hellyer forever."

"Eh, maybe not." Patrick stuffed a few paper bills into his back pocket and then closed the door. "But then again, he's got a lot on his plate right now. It's a big school. Kids like me fall through the cracks all the time. Sad but true." He strolled over to them so casually. "So we skipping or not?"

Vic slammed his locker shut. "Why'd you give her the shirts back, Patrick?"

"Oh?" Patrick's face broke into that shameless grin that Vic couldn't stand. "Right. Yeah, I did that."

"You broke into my car?" Belch clobbered his arm with his fist while Patrick laughed. "Thanks a lot, asshole, you busted the lock! You know how much it's gonna cost to get that fixed?"

Patrick shrugged. "It wouldn't open."

"Why'd you give them back, Patrick?" Vic pressed. Obviously, he was up to something. Patrick was always up to something. "Yesterday, you wanted to burn those shirts. So why?"

"Yeah, I was gonna burn 'em. You guys chickened out, so I came up with a better idea, so what? You should've seen how her face lit up when she saw those shirts. It was so precious, like a kid at Christmas."

Vic rolled his eyes. "You don't even like her."

"Not particularly, no." Pretty as she was, the girl was too prudish, too boringly perfect, to be worth his time under normal circumstances. "But Bowers definitely has a little schoolgirl crush on the kid. How mad do you think he'll get if I ask her out? I'm guessing pretty mad."

Sometimes Patrick liked to set little fires and walk away. They needed to put this one out before it burned down the whole town.

"Don't," Belch said with a foreboding shake of his head. "Just don't, Patrick."

"What?" said Patrick defiantly. "Look, you two can keep kissing his ass all you want, but I'm getting awfully tired of walking on eggshells because of that little prick." The burn on his arm started to itch again. He couldn't so easily forget it. "He can keep pulling her pigtails like we're in preschool, see where that gets him, but me, I'm making a move."

Belch's eyes narrowed. "You really don't get it, do you?"

No, Patrick didn't get it at all, and Vic was starting to realize he didn't either. But Belch knew. Yeah, of course he did. He knew the whole time, and still he had played dumb when Vic asked him about it. _I told him what I saw, and that son of a bitch lied right to my face. _Hearing the truth left him rattled. He started to feel sick.

"I'm, uh, heading to class," Vic muttered in case anyone was listening. "You assholes can do what you want." He tucked his notebook under his arm and broke into a brisk walk, leaving the two of them behind.

"Don't get between them, Patrick," he heard Belch say. "It's not gonna end how you think."

2

During their lunch period, Paul Colborne decided a celebration was in order.

He was on his feet, with a carton of chocolate milk in his hand. "In case you all haven't heard the wonderful news, Henry Bowers got suspended today. Now, this may not seem like a big deal to some of you, especially you freshmen over there. That's right, I see you giving me that skeptical look. 'But, Paul,' you're probably thinking, 'he's gotten suspended before.' You're right, he has, and each time he just comes back nastier and angrier, so why should we celebrate, right? Well, my sources tell me that the school board is now pushing for expulsion. That's right, folks, Henry Bowers is getting kicked out of school! I know we all thought this day would never come, but here we are! Now, let us clink our milks in victory!"

He and Lenny Arkins dramatically clinked their open milk cartons together while the younger students around him clapped and hollered. Evelyn kept on eating her salad. It was weird enough not having Henry at lunch, but now the cafeteria was turning into a circus.

"Come, Hannah, you can clink, too, even though you're drinking skim milk."

Hannah-Beth was too polite to refuse him. She gave him a timid tap and then went back to her chicken noodle soup.

Now, Paul was coming toward Evelyn. "Evie, clink with me!"

"Yeah, I'm not doing that." She pushed his carton away. If she was feeling bolder, she would have knocked it out of his hand.

"Aww, come on! You of all people should be happy right now. Henry's expulsion is a good thing for our cause. One less bully in school, right? It's a huge win. You can use it for your run for student body president."

"I won't celebrate a student getting kicked out of school. That's not a win; it's a tragedy. And what you're doing right now is childish. Sit down, Paul."

He frowned and sank into his chair. "You're such a fun-sucker, Evelyn. Something good finally happens to us, and you gotta suck all the fun out of it, as usual."

Evelyn waited for him to stop talking, then told Hannah-Beth to get her notebook ready. "Now, can we move on to what's important, please? We have a huge student council meeting tomorrow, and we still haven't properly prepared for it. I don't want to be the only representing class unable to make a solid contribution. The seniors will judge us." And Mr. Burke would think her unfit to lead. She didn't want to disappoint him.

Paul smashed some potato chips between his second ham sandwich. "You know you're the only one who actually prepares for those meetings, right? Nobody else cares. It's the same shit every month. Newham talks for-fucking-ever. There's a new charity drive and some school spirit event, like beach day, which everyone hates. We eat. We vote. We leave. It's not that complicated."

Evelyn skewered a cherry tomato with her fork and pointed it at him. "First of all, beach day was my idea, and nobody hated it."

"Everyone hated it. They were just too nice to say it to your face. Sorry, but putting a towel on the floor doesn't exactly transport me to the beach."

That stung a little. Evelyn had done her best with the limited resources she had. She wanted tiki torches and a giant outdoor barbecue pit, but Principal Hellyer said it would be a fire hazard. Then, of course, it rained, so they had no choice but to bring everything inside. Her paper decorations got all wet and soggy and had to be thrown out, and—yeah, the end product was a little lame.

And this tomato was sour. Evelyn spat it back into her bowl.

"_Second of all_," she went on, "if you hate student council so much, why did you join in the first place?"

"For the longer lunch period once a month, obviously."

Lenny nodded. "Plus, it gets us out of class sometimes. Looks good on a college application."

"Mhm, mhm. That's why everyone joined, except you."

"And Jake Newham."

"But that kid thinks he's the real president. I'm surprised he doesn't have his own secret service by now."

"At least he's passionate about something," Evelyn said. "What are you passionate about, huh? You sit there and bitch about everything, but you never offer up any ideas of your own, Paul. And you still haven't gotten Mr. Burke's approval on those damn posters! Those need to be up by Friday, or did you already forget?" The whole table shook. Evelyn was on her feet now, both hands pressing down onto the tabletop like she was trying to break it. "You think all my ideas are so lame, but whenever I let you take the lead on something, you just slack off, and I'm stuck doing double the work! So from now on, do me a favor and just shut up, Paul. Okay? Just shut the fuck up!"

The plastic salad bowl clattered back onto her tray. Paul closed his eyes and winced at the sound, thinking it was about to come flying at him next. When he opened them again, Evelyn was gone, but her empty milk carton remained.

Just for laughs, he gave it a little clink.

"Jeez," he said, settling back into his chair, "what's up her ass today?"

3

The rest of the day passed quickly. Evelyn kept herself busy the best way she knew how: by burying herself in her schoolwork. She graded some papers for Mr. Beecroft while everyone else watched a film about freshwater biomes, volunteered herself for the next book report in Mrs. Whitwell's English class, and dutifully reminded Mr. Durbridge about the quiz he'd previously announced. Someone threw a crumpled-up paper at her head for doing that, but she didn't care. Evelyn took the quiz and easily passed. Paul was grumbling the whole time.

"You know," said Paul as they walked out of the classroom together, "there's a special kind of hell for people like you."

"Quit being so overdramatic. It wasn't even that hard."

"At least it's finally over," Hannah-Beth said, clutching her books tightly against her chest. In a hallway full of students, she couldn't help but feel self-conscious. "The day went by so slowly. I thought it would never end."

Evelyn groaned. "Tell me about it."

By the time 3:15 rolled around, Evelyn felt emotionally and physically drained, but there was no time for her to slow down. It was Tuesday, after all, and she had a tutoring session with Lydia Alpsterstein in the public library. She couldn't be late.

Paul was the first to leave. "I gotta stop by Booker's house on my way home. His mom called my mom and asked me to drop off his assignments for the last two days. Guess he's still sick."

"That's weird," Evelyn said, remembering how pale Denny Booker had looked in class the day before. He ran to the nurse's office and then was sent home for the day. "Must be some bug. Hopefully, he's not contagious."

"Aww, don't say that. You know I hate being sick." He grimaced, then picked up his pace. "All right, I'm off. Later, guys!"

Evelyn and Hannah-Beth continued on to the sophomore locker area. It was loud and chaotic, as always. Scott Kellerman already had his skateboard out and was doing little tricks up and down the hallway while music blasted from a small boombox his friend had dragged out. He almost collided into Marcia Silcott as she was leaving her locker.

"That's such a hazard, Skelly," Marcia said, turning up her nose at him. "You're gonna break your neck or something." She reached back into her purse and then stopped as a puzzled expression overtook her face. "Wait, where the hell are my sunglasses?"

For some reason, Evelyn's little brother and his friends were there, too, looking uncomfortable and out of place. Rightfully so. Most seventh-graders knew better than to wander into the upperclassmen areas, and if they ever did, they needed a damn good excuse. The students of Derry High School were very territorial.

"Can we help you?" asked April Nilsen with a snooty tone, while Steph Price stood with her hand on her hip. They wore matching pastel sweaters and reeked of hairspray and faux designer perfume.

Stan Uris was distracted for a moment by their perfect color coordination. The smell made his nose wrinkle. "No, thank you," he eventually uttered while Eddie Kaspbrak shot him a panicked look that screamed, _Don't talk to them!_

"Then beat it, twerps," April said. "This area is for sophomores only. Go back to the kiddie section."

"How 'bout you go back to the bimbo section?" Richie fired back. "We're waiting for my sister."

Evelyn arrived just in time. "Richie," she said, "what are you guys doing here?" She proceeded to her locker, and the four boys trailed behind her like little lost ducklings. Thankfully, it was enough to appease the two girls, who walked away without another word.

"We thought you might want an armed escort home," said Richie.

She pulled off her padlock. "Armed escort? What are you talking about?"

"Buh-Buh-Buh-Bowers," said Bill. "We thought he might be cuh-cuh-coming after yuh-you."

Eddie took over. "Yeah, he's probably really pissed right now."

"And you guys think he's gonna come after me," Evelyn said. The four of them nodded, and she sighed. "Look, that's really sweet, but I'll be fine. Besides, I'm not going home yet anyway. It's Tuesday, Rich. I've got tutoring today, remember?" She had the bright yellow folder in her hand. "The library's just around the block, and ..."

She saw her little brother's bruised face and felt guilty all over again.

"You know what," she decided, "that'd be nice. Thank you."

Evelyn took a moment to gather her things, waved a quick goodbye to Hannah-Beth, and then they were off.

4

They cut through Bassey Park because it was the fastest way.

The three boys walked their bicycles alongside her, Bill leading the way as he always did. Evelyn asked her brother if he remembered where his bike ended up yesterday, and he said it was probably still at the dump. They were gonna go look for it later. Evelyn told them to be careful. "You shouldn't have been there in the first place. That junkyard is dangerous. There's all that broken glass and who knows how many diseases."

"Ugh, I know," Eddie said, thankful that someone finally agreed with him. "It was so disgusting."

His wristwatch beeped at exactly 3:30. He took two little pills out of his pillbox and swallowed them dry.

Stan was walking on Evelyn's left, his polished silver-and-gold bike sparkling in the sunlight. Evelyn wondered how he kept it so clean, but maybe there was no special trick to it at all. Much like his bike, Stanley Uris was always nicely put-together. While Richie left the house in whatever clothes he could find, Stan dressed in crisp slacks and a button-up shirt that somehow never got wrinkled, even after a full day of school. It was very impressive.

"Do you guys really think he's gonna get expelled?" he asked after a while. "Bowers, I mean."

"I hope so," said Eddie, "but I doubt it."

Richie agreed. "If they could kick him out, they would've done it already. He'll be back."

"Not like it'll help much anyway," Eddie went on bitterly. "Can you imagine what he'll be like if he does get expelled? If you thought Bowers was bad before ... Man, he'll really have it in for us then."

"It'll be fine," Evelyn said. She would make it so.

When they reached the Kissing Bridge, a strange silence swept over the group. Suddenly, the boys became more acutely aware of their surroundings. Eyes darted from side to side, absorbing as much as possible while being careful not to linger in one place for too long. Didn't want to make it too obvious. After all, there was a girl present, and not just any girl: an older sister. Evelyn tried not to laugh. They were all so jittery. Eddie tripped over his own feet once. ("Good going, klutz," Richie teased with a cackling laugh.) Then Stan accidentally bumped Evelyn's shoulder with his and stammered an apology that she could hardly hear.

She hoped her smile would calm him. "Don't worry about it, Stan."

They came out the other side, and everyone went back to their usual chatter. Stan was still quiet, but he had always been that way. Evelyn didn't mind. Sometimes a little silence was refreshing. They were so rare in her house.

But then again, Evelyn did love a good conversation.

"So, Stan, are you excited for the movie on Saturday?"

"Yeah. Should be fun."

A concise response, but it did little to dissuade her from talking. "What are you seeing again? Zombie pirates from outer space or something?"

Stan stifled a laugh. "Sounds about right." Then he went silent again, but only for a moment. The gap between them seemed to get a little smaller. Their shoulders almost brushed together when Stan suddenly asked, "Are you, um, going too?"

"Oh?" That one came out of nowhere. "No, I don't think so. I'm sure Richie doesn't want his big sister tagging along anyway."

"You got that right," Richie said without missing a beat.

Bill was a lot nicer. "You could guh-guh-go if you wuh-wanted, Evelyn. We wouldn't muh-mind."

"What?" Richie shrieked. "No! No girls! What the fuck is happening here?"

Evelyn was quick to intervene. "Relax, Richie, I'm not going. I was just making conversation."

"Sure, sure ... More like you were trying to get Stan all worked up. God, Ev, quit flirting with my friends. It's weird, creepy, and frankly a little sad." He cracked a small smirk. "What's the matter? Can't find a guy your own age?"

Stan rolled his eyes while Evelyn let out an irritated moan. "Richie, I can't wait for the day when someone finally shuts you up."

5

They parted ways at the library. Richie jumped on the back of Bill's bike, and the four of them peddled away.

"You guys be careful!" Evelyn yelled over her shoulder. "Stay together!"

Henry probably wouldn't do anything to them, but in case he did, they always stood a better chance together.

Inside the library, sixth-grader Lydia Alperstein was already waiting for Evelyn at one of the back tables. She had her feet up, headphones on, and her purple sneakers were bopping away to the pop music blaring from her Walkman. When she saw Evelyn approaching, she pulled the headphones down to her neck and said, "You're late, Tozier. Another minute and I was gonna bail."

Evelyn looked at the clock. The minute hand had just passed nine.

"And then I'll have to call your mom and tell her you skipped your session. Don't waste her money. She really wants to see you succeed." Evelyn pulled out a chair and sat down. "Feet down, please, and music off. I wouldn't want to waste any more of your precious time."

Lydia's blue eyes rolled. "Whatever."

After she complied, Evelyn reached into her backpack. "Okay, let me just start by saying this was a terrific effort." She set down the bright yellow folder and opened it to reveal a paper full of red marks.

Lydia clutched her head. "Oh my god, I did horrible!"

"What? No, you didn't. That's totally normal for a rough draft."

"Yeah, right! I mean, look at that! It's like a massacre happened on my paper. Oh my god, look at all that red. My mom's gonna kill me!"

_Maybe I should start using a different color_, Evelyn thought_, and this was me holding back, too. _She hadn't wanted to point out all her mistakes because she knew it would only discourage her. The ones she marked were the most critical. "This is why we do a rough draft. It's not meant to be perfect on the first try."

"I bet yours are."

"Nope! Not even mine. I write several drafts before I'm satisfied with the final product. It's a process, Lydia, and we all have to go through it." She poked at the paper with her pen. "Don't be scared of the red, okay? It's not pointing out your flaws. It's ... drawing attention to opportunities for improvement."

Lydia's mouth fell open. "You seriously believe that bullshit?"

"Yes, I do." And she could do with a little less sass. "Okay, let's start with your introduction, okay? Now, I'm sure Mr. Astor told you that you're supposed to clearly state the purpose of your essay in your introduction, right? Well, he didn't mean you should literally say, 'The purpose of my is essay is ...'" She trailed off, making circles with her pen. "You get my point."

Lydia shrugged. "Why can't I say that? I hit all the bullet points I had in my outline."

"Yeah, but it's not just about hitting all the main points. It's about how you get there, too. This is your chance to be creative, to really let your individuality shine. Believe it or not, you can have fun with essays like this. They're not nearly as strict as the research papers you'll have to do later, and—" Her shoulders sank. "You're not even listening to me, are you?"

Nope. In fact, she wasn't even looking at her anymore. Evelyn waved her hand in front of Lydia's face, and the younger girl blinked a few times and said, "I'm sorry, but I can't focus with that creepy guy staring at me."

"What guy?" Evelyn asked.

Lydia pointed with her finger. "Mr. Stranger Danger over there.

Evelyn turned around in her seat. What she saw struck her very last nerve. "Oh, you've gotta be kidding me."

"Mr. Stranger Danger" was, of course, none other than Patrick Hockstetter. He was lounging two rows over, with a book in his hands and his feet crossed on the table. When their eyes met, his lips curled into a taunting smile. He was practically daring Evelyn to come over.

"Do you know him or something?" Lydia asked. "Wait, he's not your boyfriend, is he? Eww, please don't tell me he's here for some kind of weird, kinky sex hook-up because I might throw up." For the full effect, she even pretended to gag. "I knew it, my tutor's a total perv."

"What?" Evelyn whipped back around. "You're in the sixth grade; you shouldn't be talking like that!"

Lydia smirked and leaned back in her seat. "Whatever, Tozier, you can go if you want. I won't tell my mom. Just don't get knocked up, 'kay? You'll ruin any shot you have at a decent future."

_And now I'm getting lectured by an eleven-year-old. _This would probably go down as the weirdest Tuesday ever.

Evelyn got up from her chair. "I'll be back in a minute. While I'm gone, look over your draft, okay? Let me know if you have any questions."

Lydia already had her headphones halfway up her neck. "Sure thing, Tozier."

Evelyn scowled. _Little brat. _

She would deal with the kid later. Right now, Patrick Hockstetter was her biggest problem.

"Patrick, what are you doing here?" Her temper flared ever so slightly.

Meanwhile, Patrick was perfectly calm. "Just enjoying the quiet ambiance of the public library." He set down the book he was reading. It was a historical account of the smallpox spread in Ancient Rome. Patrick folded his hands behind his head and leaned all the way back, making his chair tip backwards. "What brings you here?"

"You know what I'm doing here, Patrick. What are _you_ doing here? This is the very last place you should be right now—you know, considering you almost burned down one library already."

"That was a misunderstanding."

"How was it a misunderstanding? You set a whole shelf on fire."

"I was inspired by _1984_."

"You've never read _1984._"

His grey-green eyes flashed with mischievous delight. "How do you know?"

He was toying with her, purposefully distracting her from the main purpose of their conversation, and Evelyn almost fell for it. Almost. "What do you want, Patrick?"

The game was over. Patrick frowned and put his feet back down. "You know what I want," he said. "I thought I made that very clear."

"So, you're doing all this just to get a date?"

"Yup."

"Just a date, nothing else?"

"That's what I said."

She bit her lip in contemplation. "And if I say yes, you'll leave me alone?"

"Mhm."

"You swear?"

He put his hand up. "Cross my heart."

Then Evelyn saw no other choice. Her whole body cringed as she said, "Fine. I'll go out with you."

His eyes narrowed. Then, suddenly, he was on his feet. "You know what, never mind."

His rejection hit her like a punch in the gut.

"What? But you just said—"

"You clearly don't want to, and I'm not gonna force you. That's not a date, Evelyn. That's a hostage situation. Not quite as fun." He backed away, a playful smile lingering on his face, then spun around to face the exit. "But that's okay, I can wait. See you around, Ev."

He disappeared behind one of the bookshelves, and Evelyn realized she just got tricked.


	10. Chapter 10

1

At school the next day, Evelyn was startled to find a white envelope sticking out of her locker.

She felt her heart speed up as a strange sort of bubbliness welled up deep inside her. It was a familiar sensation, one that brought her all the way back to the eighth-grade, back to that folded-up paper note that fit so perfectly in her hand. The sudden rush of excitement was unlike anything else.

Her footsteps slowed. Hannah-Beth's voice faded to an inaudible mumble in the background. Evelyn sent her away with a friendly goodbye and told her she'd see her at lunch. They had a student council meeting today, and …

What was in that envelope? Evelyn had to know.

She took three quick steps and snatched the envelope out of the slot. It was lightweight and a bit stiffer than regular paper, but there wasn't any writing on either side of it, and that made Evelyn nervous. One by one, all those excited little bubbles started to burst, leaving nothing but dread. _Not again_, she thought. _Please, not again. _It had taken her two years to finally get over her last humiliating rejection. Another one would be absolutely devastating.

Part of her wanted to rip up the envelope and pretend it never existed. She probably should have, but the temptation was too overwhelming to ignore. Before she could stop herself, she was already running her finger underneath the flap and breaking the seal.

After that, there was no going back.

Inside was a vintage white border postcard from the 1920s that depicted Derry's old Main Street (Macklin Street now). Cars were parked bumper to bumper along the curb. There was Freese's Department Store, where most families still did their last-minute Christmas shopping. The furniture shop was there as well, and so was the police station and Nancy's Cafe. Back then, it went by another name (the current owners changed it after they purchased the place back in the sixties), but Evelyn couldn't clearly make out the letters on the faded sign.

"Wow," she said breathlessly, "this is …"

"Cool, huh?"

Her head jerked up at the sound of Patrick Hockstetter's voice. How long had he been standing in front of her? And how had he managed to get so close without her noticing? Before Evelyn could ask, he moved again. His forearm settled somewhere above her head, resting comfortably like the space had been carved out for him, and then he leaned in with his whole body. Evelyn turned away when his face drew too near. He smelled of musk and sweat and smoke and, very faintly, of mint, like he had just been chewing on a stick of gum.

"What are you doing, Patrick?" Evelyn asked.

"Just making sure you got my present." He gave the card a flick and pulled away, allowing his fingertips to gently brush against the backside of her hand. The sensation made her shiver. "You like it, right? It's old as shit, but I knew you'd find it interesting."

His words were too crude for such a rare treasure. "It's an antique, Patrick. Of course it's old."

"Yeah, but you like it, don't you?"

"Yes, I do." There was no denying that. Evelyn liked it more than he would probably ever understand. "Where did you get this?"

"That secondhand shop on Kansas Street. I was just passing the time, browsing through some of the vinyls. Almost bought myself an old black-and-white TV, nice little twelve-inch with the rabbit ears and everything. Would've looked great in my room … Anyway, I saw this behind the counter and, yeah, here ya go. You can stick it on your wall with the rest of 'em."

Evelyn wouldn't dream of putting this on her wall. No, this beauty belonged in a binder with all her other rare postcards (the few that she had). "This is incredible, Patrick. Really, you shouldn't have."

"Eh, don't mention it. Didn't cost me a penny."

"What do you mean?" Surely the shopkeeper hadn't just given it away.

A crooked smile began to creep up his face. "I bought it with the money I swiped from Marcia Silcott's purse."

"What?" Evelyn's eyes widened. "You stole money from another student?"

Of course he did, and Evelyn felt stupid for thinking otherwise. After all, this was Patrick she was talking to. Suddenly, his gesture seemed a lot less heartfelt and generous.

Regretfully, Evelyn pushed the postcard towards his chest. "I can't accept this. I'm sorry, Patrick, but I can't. This is basically contraband now." And she was a public (school) figure. A scandal like that would ruin her reputation.

"What? Contraband?" Patrick threw his head back and laughed. "Jesus, it's a postcard, Evelyn, not a stolen car. Besides, who cares? Marcia's a stuck-up bitch and a total tease. Doesn't even put out."

Evelyn grimaced. "I didn't need to hear that." Marcia was in her homeroom. They weren't friends, necessarily, but they got along well enough. It would be hard to look at her the same way now. "Anyway, it doesn't matter. I can't keep the postcard, Patrick. It would go against everything I stand for."

"Oh?" Patrick tilted his head to one side. "Well, if you're sure—"

Evelyn gasped when Patrick suddenly plucked the postcard out of her grasp. Her first thought, as she felt it slip through her fingers, was _Please, don't bend it! _It was such a lovely and rare postcard, still in good condition despite its age, and it had never been mailed either. It was almost like it was meant for her.

But Patrick said, "If you don't want it, I guess we should rip it up and toss it in the trash, huh?"

He had it in both hands now, acting like he was about to tear it in half. Already, his fingers were making creases in the paper—tiny, ugly wrinkles that would never go away—and the bottom-right corner tip had somehow gotten bent backwards.

Evelyn couldn't bear to watch anymore. With a desperate cry, she said, "Wait, don't! I'll take it, I will. Just … please don't destroy it, Patrick. Please, I'll … I'll—"

One flick of his wrist and the postcard was right back in front of her face.

"All yours," he said. The smile on his face was unnerving.

Evelyn slumped against her locker, feeling defeated. She couldn't believe what had almost slipped out of her mouth. _I'll do anything. _Did he know that's what she was about to say? He had to know. Why else would he look so victorious right now?

Regardless, Evelyn took the postcard and thanked him again, earnestly, because that was the proper thing to do. "It's really great, Patrick. And I have to say, I'm a bit surprised you remembered I collect them." He didn't strike her as the thoughtful type. Most of the time, he didn't even seem to be listening to her.

Maybe she had misjudged him a little.

Maybe. But probably not.

"Anyway, I should get going," Evelyn went on. The second warning bell would be ringing soon. Today was a new day, and she refused to start it off on the wrong foot by being late. "I'll see you in class, Patrick."

It was meant to be a subtle hint to leave, but Patrick either didn't get it or didn't care. He hovered over her shoulder while she unloaded her backpack and swapped out all her school materials. He even commented on the sheer number of notebooks she owned, like it was some impressive accomplishment (and for a guy who only carried what he could fit in his pockets, maybe it was). Evelyn didn't know how to make him go away, and after a while she saw no point in trying. Patrick always did whatever he wanted.

Fine, but did he have to be so close?

"Come on, seriously?" Evelyn had accidentally backed into him when she tried to leave. His hands instinctively went to her hips and pulled her tightly against him.

Her mouth fell open. "What are you …?"

Something twitched against her lower back. Evelyn froze at the unfamiliar sensation, her face getting red and hot, and she thought about what Patrick had told her while they were alone in her bedroom.

_Who do you think about when you touch yourself at night? _

_Nobody._

Evelyn snapped back to her senses and knocked him away. "Jeez, do you always have to do that?"

He backed away, seeming genuinely confused. "Do what?"

"_That._" She motioned toward the ever-shrinking space between them. "You're always _on me_! It's like you have absolutely no respect for my personal space at all. And you're always touching me, too. You think I don't notice, but I do, and I don't appreciate it. It actually makes me really uncomfortable."

Patrick looked her up and down and gave a dissatisfied grunt. "You don't want me touching you?"

"No, I don't."

"Fine," he said nonchalantly. "Have it your way. I won't touch you anymore."

Evelyn started to relax when she heard that. Maybe Patrick just needed someone to be direct with him, to set clear boundaries and hold him accountable when he crossed the line. She could do that. No problem.

"I won't lay a finger on you," he promised, drawing out his words like a fisherman casting out his line, and Evelyn was that stupid little fish swimming along in the open water. She smiled at him, told him she was glad he understood, and when she tried to go past him, he blocked her path and said with a startling sense of confidence, "… until you beg me to."

"Until I … what?" Evelyn's breath hitched in her throat, and her face started to feel warm again. She turned away before it became too obvious. "Why do you always say such weird things, Patrick?"

"Who knows?" he answered flirtatiously. "Maybe I just like watching how fast all the blood rushes to your face when you're embarrassed, and how quickly you try to hide it."

Evelyn rolled her eyes. "You like to be provocative, Patrick. That's why you do it. You want to shock people."

"Yeah, there's that, too," he admitted. For once, his smile almost looked normal and—Evelyn was hesitant to admit—even charming. "Anyway, you better hurry up and get to class. I'd go with you, but … it appears I'm needed elsewhere."

He tossed an acknowledging nod toward Principal Hellyer, who was trying so hard to look intimidating in a hallway full of teenagers. He had his hands stuffed in the pockets of dark grey slacks, chest puffed out and shoulders squared, but the coffee stain on his white shirt killed whatever cool, authoritative look he was going for. A group of junior girls even started to giggle when they came out of the bathroom and saw him.

"Carry on, ladies," he said, maintaining his composure. "Ally, that had better not be cigarette smoke I smell. We've talked about this, haven't we? Not on school grounds, please. Don't make me send a chaperone in there with you."

Evelyn looked back at Patrick, her chest tightening with guilt. "It's my fault, isn't it? He caught you because you waited for me."

"Yeah, it's all your fault," he said, smirking. "Don't worry, you can make it up to me later. Take care of that postcard, 'kay? I'd hate to see it at the bottom of the trash bin just because it's from me."

That made her sad, assuming he actually meant it. "I would never do that, Patrick. I really like it."

"Good, because I _really_ want you to have it."

They parted ways after that. Evelyn went to class while Patrick followed the principal to his office.

"So, Ron," she heard him ask, "how's your wife?"

2

Evelyn couldn't stop obsessing over the postcard. She brought it with her to every class, kept it tucked away where no one else could see, and snuck glances at it every now and then. And each time she did, she discovered another tiny, slice-of-life detail that she hadn't noticed before, like the young couple walking down the street arm in arm, or the paperboy riding his bike, or the man taking his dog for a walk. The artist had painted a little girl nearby, too, and Evelyn couldn't help wonder if she wanted to give the dog a friendly pat.

Hanna-Beth peeked over her shoulder. "What's that?"

"Huh?" Evelyn slipped the postcard back into her locker and closed the door. "Oh, that? That was nothing, just another postcard from my dad. He always picks one up when he goes on a trip."

"Oh, neat," Hannah-Beth said, and Evelyn felt bad for lying to her friend. Why did she lie, anyway? It was a postcard, not a love letter. Patrick only gave it to her because … well, Evelyn didn't know why he gave it to her, but she knew it wasn't a big deal.

"So are you ready to go?" Hannah-Beth asked.

"Go where?"

"To lunch, silly. Student council meeting?"

"Oh, the meeting, of course!" Evelyn slapped her forehead and smiled bashfully. "Duh! How stupid of me to forget. Yeah, let's get going."

Hannah-Beth stood in line with Evelyn while she bought her lunch: a hot, open-faced turkey sandwich served with a side of green beans. Then the two girls made their way to the library, where all the tables had been pushed together and arranged according to class. Seated at the head table was Jake Newham along with his chief officers, Vice President Jaclyn O'Connell and Secretary Sasha Gunt. There was another officer, the student body treasurer, but he got removed from office following a huge embezzlement scandal. He had yet to be replaced.

Before entering, Evelyn adjusted her black headband and swept her hair off her shoulders. "Hannah, how do I look?"

Hannah-Beth stepped back to give herself a better view. "Hmm, very political, I'd say, but let me just fix one thing." She reached down and tugged on the hem of Evelyn's pink-and-grey argyle sweater vest, making sure the pattern was nice and straight. "There. Now you look perfect."

Evelyn was beaming. "Thanks. Let's hurry in!"

Most of the members had already shown up by the time they arrived. The seventh- and eighth-graders always had it the worst. Not only were they denied full representation (instead, it was a combined cabinet), but they also had the worst seats at the meetings: all the way in the back, far away from all the action. Evelyn remembered what it was like to sit there. She couldn't hear a thing. This year, their seats were much better: in the middle, right at the center of all the debates and discussions. She couldn't wait to get started.

At exactly twelve o'clock, Jake Newham called the meeting to order. Then the secretary took roll and read the minutes from last month's meeting. Once the minutes were approved and signed, all the chief officers made their official reports. Since there was no current treasurer, Jackie O'Connell read the treasurer's report herself and once again expressed her dismay over the events that had transpired:

"His actions have left a deep stain on our good reputation. We all will need to work hard to regain the student body's trust."

Paul snorted at that. "It was ten bucks, who gives a shit?"

Evelyn jabbed him with her elbow.

To wrap up the unfinished business of their last meeting, the council voted on their next community outreach initiative, which would include, for the third year in a row, a clean-up of the town's parks and other recreational areas. They would also set up a few booths at the upcoming Fall Festival. Evelyn usually got stuck at the kid's face-painting booth, but she didn't mind. It was all for a good cause.

Homecoming was the primary agenda for this month's meeting. The committee was made up of mostly juniors and seniors who didn't welcome outside opinions. For twenty minutes, they threw around ideas for the pep rally. Paul let out a loud groan when Jake Newham suggested another anti-bullying skit, which was sure to end in disaster. Evelyn, of course, seconded his motion (and a bit too enthusiastically, in Paul's opinion), and it got approved swiftly with a two-thirds vote.

"I want no part in it," Paul grumbled while Evelyn shot him a glare. "Nope, not doing it. I refuse to get laughed at again."

Then the focus shifted to the homecoming dance, which led to yet another heated argument between the upperclassmen and underclassmen girls. Freshman representative Destiny Davis made a motion to allow freshmen and sophomores to attend the dance, which the upperclassmen immediately and passionately denied.

"But that's not fair!" Destiny cried while her fellow freshmen expressed equal outrage. "You guys get homecoming and prom, and all we get is one shitty dance in the middle of the year that nobody ever goes to! I demand a vote!"

"You can't demand a vote!" yelled Candice Belltree, a junior. "The dances are solely reserved for upperclassmen. That's just the way it is. We all had to wait our turn, and so do you. When you're in our shoes, you'll understand why it's so important. Dances are a privilege, Destiny, not a right."

"Then we want a dance of our own. Give us our own prom!"

"Yeah!" a few more girls piped up. "Give us our own prom!"

"No way!" Jackie O'Connell boomed from the head table. "We already have a senior and a junior prom. We don't have the budget for a third prom. Besides, what's to stop all the other grades from wanting dances of their own? Let's not let this get out of hand. Prom is for the upperclassmen. Simple as that. You'll get your own prom in a few years. Be patient."

Paul rolled his eyes. "Why are we even talking about this? Stupid girls and their stupid proms." He cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted, "Nobody cares!"

Evelyn didn't care either. She would have much rather discussed the anti-bullying skit a little more. After all, there was still so much to be decided: costumes, props, and, most importantly, the script. She and Hannah-Beth were already jotting down some ideas in her notebook.

The debate over prom ate up the rest of their allotted time; then Jake Newham sadly called for the meeting to be adjourned and all further discussion moved to the following month. "And can we keep it civil, please?" he asked. "Let's all try to follow proper procedure from now on."

Evelyn felt bad for him. The girls had made of mockery of the entire parliamentary process.

Paul was just glad to be done. He grabbed his tray and stood up. "Another complete waste of time. God, I love our student council."

Destiny Davis stopped by their table before leaving. She was president of the freshman class and, according to Paul, took her position a little too seriously. "She's more obsessed with student council than you are, Evelyn." There was a rumor going around that she was the one who leaked the senior treasurer's indiscretions to the school paper. Destiny neither confirmed nor denied those allegations, but it was probably true. The girl was vicious.

"Hey, thanks for all the support back there," she said sourly. "Your silence spoke volumes, Tozier. I expected more from the sophomore class."

Her vice was less hostile. "What's the matter?" she asked. "Don't you wanna go to prom?"

Evelyn shrugged. "Well, sure, but it's never gonna happen. The seniors won't let us take so much as a penny from their prom budget."

"That's why we have to work together!" Destiny said, slamming her fist into her palm. "Look, the juniors only got their own prom because they lobbied hard for it. We have to do the same. Come on, Evelyn! I know you're planning to run for student body president next year. Trust me, you're gonna want our support. We have a lot of influence over the underclassmen. The seventh-graders are practically in my back pocket."

Paul busted out laughing. "Please, Evelyn's gonna win by default. Nobody else ever signs up."

Destiny pushed him aside. "Regardless, it'll be good to add this win to your legacy. Think about it, Evelyn. All the underclassmen girls will be forever grateful. You'll be, like, our hero."

Evelyn thought it over for a second, then sighed. "There's no room in the budget for another prom, Destiny. Jackie wasn't lying. That means we're probably gonna have to raise all the funds ourselves. Are you prepared to do that? It's gonna be a lot of work."

"No problem! I'm a fundraising machine. Do you know where we went for our class trip last year? Berrymore Farms."

Paul scoffed. "Berrymore Farms? Such an amateur move. That place has like two rides, and one's always broken. Do you know what we did as freshmen? We combined our funds with the sophomores and rented out the whole movie theater for the afternoon. Double feature. Bottomless popcorn. Take notes, freshies, because that's how you do it."

Destiny glared at him. "Nobody's talking to you, Colborne. Tell me what you want me to do next, Evelyn."

"You'll need to draft up a formal proposal. Nothing too fancy, but you need something on paper. Keep it clear and concise. Make sure you outline all the details: time, location, how much it will cost, how you intend to pay for it, things like that. Mr. Burke can give you a sample sheet to guide you. If you need more help, you can ask me, too."

"Okay, okay, I can do that."

"Then you'll need to get Mr. Burke to sign off on it."

"Okay."

"Get your signatures. Fifty would be good. A hundred would be better. You need to show that the interest is there; otherwise, you won't stand a chance."

"Easy. Go on."

"Then we'll submit it directly to Principal Hellyer."

"Wait, we're not gonna present it at the next meeting?"

"Nope. They'll just reject it again. I have a meeting with Hellyer every Thursday during first period. If you're free, you can come with me and submit it then."

"How sneaky." Destiny's glossed lips curled into a wicked grin. "I love it! That's the kinda shit I'm talking about, Tozier. You're the best! If you ever need anything—anything at all—just let me know. I've got your back."

Satisfied, the girls finally left, and Paul couldn't believe that Evelyn actually helped them.

"In case you hadn't noticed, Destiny's kind of a lunatic."

Evelyn gave him a disapproving look. "She's not a lunatic, Paul. Honestly, I admire her enthusiasm. She reminds me of me."

That made him cringe. "An evil version of you, maybe. That girl plays dirty. She'll probably stab you in the back first chance she gets."

"I think you've been watching too much TV. This is Derry, Paul, not DC."

Out in the hallway, a visibly distressed Jake Newham was talking to Mr. Burke, the high school guidance counselor and advisor to the student council. Evelyn thought he was just the coolest, with his rolled-up sleeves and laid-back attitude. He was the perfect person to go to when she needed help, and she needed his help now more than ever.

She told her friends to go on without her.

"Listen, Jake," Mr. Burke said, "you're the president now, so it's your meeting to run. I can't step in every time you feel like you're losing control. If the discussion starts to go off the rails, it's your job to steer it back on course. Have more confidence in yourself. Don't let Jackie steamroll you. This is your presidency, not hers."

"I know, but—" Jake stopped when he saw Evelyn approach. "Oh, hey, Evelyn. Some meeting, huh?"

"It wasn't so bad."

He dismissed her comment with a wave of his hand. "You're just being nice. It was a total disaster."

"It really wasn't, not completely anyway. It started out pretty good. I liked your skit idea."

"Yeah?" he said, green eyes lighting up. "I thought you might."

"I have some ideas, actually."

"Of course you do." His laughter was light and effortless. She was glad to see him smiling again. "We'll talk about it later, okay? But, umm, did you need something?"

She shook her head. "Oh, no, I just had to talk to Mr. Burke real quick, but I can wait until you two are finished."

"No, you go ahead. I've gotta get to class anyway. Statistics, man, it's a headache but a necessary one." He rolled his eyes playfully. "Thanks for all the advice, Mr. Burke."

"Keep up the good work, Jake." Mr. Burke sent him off with a light slap on the back and then turned toward Evelyn. "All right, what's up?"

Evelyn wasted no time getting to the point. "Okay, so you heard that Henry Bowers got suspended, right? Well, Principal Hellyer told me the school board was planning on expelling him, and I need your help to stop that from happening." She ended her plea with a smile, hoping that might help sell her case.

It didn't matter. Mr. Burke wasn't buying it. "Evelyn, I know you like to get personally involved with student affairs, but I honestly think you might've chosen the wrong battle here."

"Oh, come on, Mr. Burke! You know Henry. You've talked to him."

"I've tried to, yes, but he's as stubborn as they come."

"Still, you know how important school is for someone like him. Expelling him isn't gonna do him any good. It'll all but crush any potential he might have to do something positive with his life."

He nodded thoughtfully. "I can agree with that, but we have to consider the other students, too."

As if Evelyn hadn't thought of that. "Expelling Henry isn't gonna make our school any safer. In fact, I'd argue that things will only get worse with him gone. There are other bullies besides Henry, despite what Principal Hellyer might think."

She could name a few off the top of her head: Martin Davers, James Attridge, and Greta Bowie's whole squad. Evelyn suspected they were the ones writing all that nasty stuff in the girls' restrooms. Evelyn had gotten on their bad side once after reporting them to the principal. Greta retaliated by making up a rumor about Evelyn being addicted to caffeine pills, which was apparently quite believable because she actually got called into Mr. Burke's office for a little chitchat.

"But Mr. Burke," she had said, "I don't even drink coffee!"

The rumor lost steam after one of the seniors got pregnant, but Greta still gave her mean looks whenever their paths crossed.

Mr. Burke was playing with the stubble on his chin now, something he always did when he was thinking really hard about something. "I see you're very passionate about this."

Yes, she was, but he didn't need to know why.

Evelyn folded her arms behind her back. "Well, I consider myself a student advocate, you know. Henry's a student, too, and he deserves help just like everyone else."

"How very noble of you."

"Yes, it is. And I'm gonna fight this with or without you, Mr. Burke, but I know it'll be a lot easier with you on my side."

That made him chuckle. "All right, all right, I'll speak to Principal Hellyer on Henry's behalf, but that's it. I can't make any guarantees."

"No need!" Evelyn said, grinning from ear to ear. "That's perfect, absolutely perfect. Thank you, Mr. Burke!"

3

Her talk with Mr. Burke left Evelyn feeling reinvigorated and more determined than ever. As she walked home from school that day, she used the extra time to come up with an attack plan.

Most of her classmates would agree that Evelyn was somewhat of an expert at being annoying (second, perhaps, only to her little brother), so she knew she would have no trouble wearing the principal down. She would visit his office every day, send letters, call his house, probably have a nice long chat with his wife, get herself invited to dinner with the family (and she was a delightful dinner guest), and then he would have no choice but to give in to her demands. It worked when she wanted new chairs for the music room, and it would probably work now.

Evelyn continued down Witcham for a while longer until she hit Summer Street. It was there, on the corner of Witcham and Summer, that she spotted little Georgie Denbrough sitting alone on his stoop, waiting for his big brother to come home.

"Hey, Captain!" she shouted across the street. "Why the long face? Did your boat sink, or what?"

"I don't have a boat yet!" Georgie yelled back. "Bill's supposed to make me one, but he forgot."

Evelyn frowned. "Oh, I'm sure he didn't forget. He just got busy, that's all." Bill always kept his promises. If he said he was gonna make Georgie a boat, then Bill would, and it would be the best boat anyone had ever seen.

"Can you make a boat, Evie?"

"Me? No, I can't make a boat." Nobody had ever taught her how. "I can make a paper crane that flaps its wings, but that's about it."

"Oh. Well, that's okay. Bill's gonna make me one anyway." His face broke into a wide grin. "And when it rains, we're gonna take it sailing! Real sailing!"

"Wow, real sailing?" Evelyn echoed, matching his enthusiasm. "Well, if you two are really going sailing, make sure you swing by my place and pick me up, okay? I'd love to spend a day on the water."

That made George giggle. "You can't fit in the boat, dummy. You're too big!"

They laughed at that a lot longer than they should have. Evelyn accused Georgie of calling her fat, and that had the kid in stitches for a good three minutes. "It's because you ate the whole pie!" he said, referring to the cherry pie his mother had brought over for dessert one night. It was an exaggeration, of course; Evelyn hadn't eaten the _whole _pie, but she had eaten most of it because it was so deliciously tart.

"Are you coming over next weekend?" George asked once they'd settled down. "My mom said you would be."

"Yeah, I'll be there, so you better pick a good movie. Nothing too scary, okay? Or else we'll both be hiding under your bed." She waved goodbye. "Say hi to your mom for me, okay?"

"I will! Bye, Evie!"

"Bye!"

Evelyn chuckled a little as she carried on. _Real sailing, huh? Well, won't that be fun? _

She turned onto Summer Street and picked up her pace. All the heavy books in her bag were starting to make her back and shoulders ache, but she was almost home. _And when I get home, I'm gonna quickly finish all my homework and then get right to work on that script for the pep rally. Paul says he's not gonna participate, but I have the perfect role for him, so he's just gonna have to suck it up!_

She cut across the lawn instead of using the paved walkway (even though her parents hated it when she did that) and saw another patch of grass that her brother had missed when he was mowing the lawn.

"God, it's like he didn't even—Oh."

The word slipped out like a quiet gasp. Evelyn stopped in the middle of the lawn, her mouth falling open in disbelief as she watched all her plans for the day blow away with the wind.

Henry Bowers was sitting on her porch.

4

"Hi," Evelyn said, feeling shy of all a sudden. It had been a long time since he paid her a visit. Almost four months now, by her count. Honestly, she never thought he would show up again, not after what had happened last spring. She was glad to see him. It made her think things were finally turning around again.

Henry raised his head to look at her. The sharp glare from the setting sun made him squint. "I thought you tutored on Tuesdays," he muttered, his voice almost a low growl. "It's almost five o'clock."

"I had a yearbook meeting after school."

"Yearbook?" Henry cursed under his breath. _Well, how the hell was I supposed to know that? _That's what he'd really meant to say, but she supposed cursing was just as effective. "Don't you have enough shit going on already?"

Evelyn shrugged. "It's not that much work. We only meet twice a month, but it's kind of fun sometimes." Not half as much fun as the cooking club and only a third as fun as student council, but it rounded out her extracurriculars. "Wait, you weren't sitting here the whole time, were you?" Surely, he hadn't been waiting there for over an hour. That would have been insane.

Evelyn frowned. "Are you okay?"

His cold stare was answer enough. Evelyn felt stupid for asking. She pulled out her house key and made her way up the porch steps. _Of course he isn't okay, you dummy. Why else would he be here? _

Henry got up to follow her, his movements strained and slower than usual. Evelyn tried not to watch (because she knew he hated it when she did), but she couldn't help it. She saw him wince as his back hunched forward and wince again when it settled into its natural position. He had to bite down on his lip to keep from making noise.

Evelyn wished he would stop trying to hide it. _It's worse than before. _

He waited downstairs while Evelyn rummaged around in her parents' bathroom cabinets. She had to be quiet because her mother was asleep in her bed, exhausted from working the morning shift at the hospital. She would get up soon to start dinner, but Henry would be long gone before then. He always was.

Evelyn grabbed whatever she could find. The ibuprofen bottle was less than half full, but it would have to do. Then she found a tube of antibiotic ointment in the drawer that hadn't been opened yet, so she pocketed it right away. A cream for burns. Another for bruises. She didn't know if that one worked very well, but her mother kept buying it, so it couldn't have been entirely useless. Evelyn tossed the jar on the counter with everything else and then reached under the sink for the bandaids.

When she opened the box, she couldn't help but feel a tiny pang of nostalgia. After all, it was a bandaid that brought her here. A little yellow bandaid that could scarcely cover a paper cut. Ten years ago, she put it on a little boy's cheek to stop him from crying. Then, when she saw him on the playground the next day, he pushed her to the ground and spit on her.

_And here I am now,_ _stealing drugs out of my mom's medicine cabinet. _She laughed, grimly amused by the unexpected turn of events. _If I'd known this would happen, I would have never … No, I still probably would have done it. Vic's right; I am pathetic. _She put the box away and closed the cabinet.

When Evelyn came back down, she saw Henry looking at one of the framed pictures on the mantle. It was the one of her and Richie from two winters ago.

"You know why he's smiling like that?" she said, trying to make light of the situation. "He had a snowball hidden behind his back. Once the picture was taken, he smashed it in my face and ran away. If that doesn't perfectly sum up our relationship, I dunno what does."

Henry's expression remained unchanged. Evelyn realized she was only making things more awkward. "Um, everything's ready now. My mom's asleep, so …"

Henry brushed past her and walked upstairs. Evelyn let out a hopeless sigh.

It was business as usual after that. Henry locked himself in the family's second bathroom, doing whatever he needed to do, and Evelyn sat on her bed and waited, feeling anxious about the whole thing. In the past, she used to be a lot more curious about it. Once, she even mustered the courage to sneak a peek and immediately wished she hadn't. The welts on his back were a lot bigger up close, and redder, too—a bright, painful shade of red; and hidden in one of the welts was the faint imprint of a belt buckle. Evelyn would never forget it for as long as she lived. The sight of it made her burst into tears right on the spot. Henry screamed at her for looking and slammed the door in her face.

He never forgot to lock the door after that.

Evelyn supposed she was better off not knowing the details. If she did, it would be awfully difficult to keep up the pleasantries with his dad when she saw him on the street. It was hard enough already. Sometimes, she swore he could see through her smile. She used to be a lot better at faking it.

Henry came out a little while later, fumbling with the buttons on his shirt. Evelyn expected him to leave after that, but he didn't. Instead, he sat down on her desk and started shuffling through the small stack of papers she kept: an English essay, some biology reports, graded history quizzes, and—

"I talked to Principal Hellyer," Evelyn said.

Henry stopped what he was doing and looked at her with a piercing glare. "Who the hell asked you to do that?"

"Nobody." She didn't think she needed permission. "Did you know he's trying to expel you?"

"Yeah, so what?"

Her eyes widened. "So what? Henry, do you know what that means?"

"Of course I know what that means! What do you think I am, some kinda idiot?" He let out a frustrated huff, loosening his clenched fist. "Hellyer can do whatever he wants. If the asshole wants to kick me out so bad, let him. He'll only be doing me a favor. I was planning on dropping out anyway."

"Dropping out?" Her shoulders dropped. "Why?"

"Because I'm tired of wasting my time!" he yelled, exploding again with unseemly anger. Evelyn shrank back a little, and he started to calm down. His voice was almost back to a normal volume when he said, "I'm already failing three classes, Ev."

"Only because you never go to class." She hadn't meant it as a jab, but he sure took it as one.

"That's right, I don't!" he spat. "I don't need that bullshit. Sitting there while all the teachers treat me like I'm stupid. Fuck that."

"But, Henry, what are you gonna do? You can't honestly expect to work on your dad's farm for the rest of your life. And without a high school diploma—"

"Well, I guess I'll have to figure something out then, huh?" His tone was defensive and full of disdain. "It's none of your damn business, Evelyn! So stop butting in all the time!"

Evelyn recoiled from him, her own anger rising up in response. Henry was truly unbearable when he was like this, but Evelyn knew better than to raise her voice to his level. That was like lighting a match next to a barrel of gunpowder. It would only blow up in her face and leave a big mess for her to clean up.

Instead, she bit her tongue and said very calmly, "You're right, it's none of my business. I shouldn't have gotten involved. And yes, I'm sure you could figure something out. Really, I don't doubt that." She waited for more of the tension to leave his face before continuing. It was hard to reason with him when he was so tightly wound. "But here's what I know for sure, okay? Just listen: You'll have a lot more options if you just tough it out for a few more years. Go to class, put in a minimal effort, and graduate. Then you can go do whatever you want."

Henry opened his mouth like he was gonna yell again; then he sighed and threw his head down. "Whatever, Hellyer's gonna kick me out anyway."

"No, he won't," Evelyn said, steeled with determination. "I won't let him."

He looked up, and their eyes met in an awkward fashion, causing Evelyn to blush and avert her gaze. Things always got a little weird between them once the yelling stopped. The silent aftermath used to be comforting, peaceful almost, but now it felt heavy and tense. It was a smothering sort of feeling. Evelyn couldn't stand it.

Henry pushed himself to his feet. "I should get going."

Evelyn felt her heart sink. Strange as it was to admit, she hoped he would stay, keep the torture going just a little bit longer, but it was probably for the best. No use in getting her hopes up. Things were never gonna be as they were.

_And it's all my fault. _

It was a hard pill to swallow.

Henry showed himself out, an unusual change to their routine. Evelyn didn't ask why he didn't want her there, but she figured it had something to do with the sad smile she always gave him when she said goodbye. Probably made her seem clingy or something.

When he was gone, Evelyn dragged her backpack over to her desk and tried to pick up the pieces of her shattered afterschool plans. She found the postcard sticking out of her history book. Evelyn had stuffed it in there when the teacher caught her looking at it during class. He asked what was so much more interesting than his lecture on ancient Chinese philosophy.

"Nothing, Mr. Durbridge," Evelyn said, and she hid the postcard away.

A smile spread across Evelyn's face when she discovered it again. She pushed everything else aside (even her plans for Jake Newham's skit) and laid with it for a while on her floral quilt, admiring the simple charm of a town that seemed much brighter and happier than the Derry she knew.

Six months from now, Evelyn would look back on this moment fondly and realize it was the very last time she truly felt at peace, right before her life started spinning out of control.


	11. Chapter 11

1

It took Maggie Tozier less than twenty-four hours to discover she was missing her ibuprofen.

Of course, it would have taken much longer if she hadn't had that painful run-in with Sonia Kaspbrak at the grocery store on Thursday afternoon. Maggie had just finished her shift when she remembered that she needed to buy breadcrumbs for the meatloaf she was making. Well, somewhere between the snack-food aisle (in which she bought herself a case of whoopie pies) and the wine aisle, Maggie realized she had no desire to cook (especially not her meatloaf, or meat-loathe_, _as her daughter called it), so she decided to buy a few frozen TV dinners instead. Nice and easy. Her family would be fed, and Maggie wouldn't have to spend the better part of her evening washing dishes. Win-win.

Mrs. Tozier was in the checkout line when Sonia Kaspbrak came up behind her. In her basket was a single white onion. "For dinner," she said with an oddly conceited smile, like onions were something to brag about. "I'm making hamburger hotdish tonight. It's my Eddie's favorite."

Maggie's smile was forced but polite. "How nice for Eddie."

It was for his sake that she kept her mouth shut. If Maggie wasn't careful, Sonia would do something petty, like prevent her son from going to the movie on Saturday. She had already pulled him out of the boys' sleepover. When Richie came home from school on Tuesday, he told her that Eddie couldn't spend the night anymore because his mother was taking him to church in the morning. Obviously, it was payback for their conversation on Monday evening. Such a conniving move.

"Oh, Marge," Sonia went on with a contemptuous sigh, "TV dinners? You really shouldn't pump your kids with all those chemicals." Then she saw the wine and the whoopie pies, and her eyes lit up behind her large, square-framed glasses. "Now I see. You'd rather sit and drink than cook for your family. How sad."

Swallowing her pride, Maggie held her tongue all the way through checkout and through the long walk to her van. Then, as soon as she got inside and closed the door, Maggie slammed her fist on the steering wheel and screamed a mouthful of obscenities.

"So, Evelyn," Maggie was saying now, while she peeled the plastic film off her son's dinner tray, "imagine my surprise when I opened the medicine cabinet and found it completely empty." She crumpled up the plastic and threw it in the garbage bin. "Richie, your dinner's ready."

Richie sprang up from the table. "About time!" He took the tray, grabbed a fork from the drawer, and sat down next to Mr. Tozier, who was quietly feasting on a tray of Salisbury steak.

Maggie put her hand on her hip. "Well, Evelyn? You don't have anything to say?"

Her daughter gave her a desperate look. "Can we talk about this later?" She made a subtle gesture across the table, to where her father was sitting, totally oblivious to the drama going on around him. "Please?"

Maggie sighed, her heart swelling with motherly compassion, and she said to the men, "Why don't you two go eat in the living room?"

"What?" Their heads shot up at once and turned toward Maggie. Richie's expression was hopeful but also skeptical. "I thought we weren't allowed to eat in the living room," he said carefully. "Dinner time is family time, right, Mom? It's sacred."

Maggie didn't appreciate him throwing her words back in her face. "Well, then I guess today's your lucky day, huh? Go on, I wanna talk to your sister alone."

"About what?" Richie asked, pushing up his glasses. "She's in trouble, isn't she?"

"No, she's not in trouble."

"If she's in trouble, I wanna stay and watch."

"She's not in trouble. We just need to talk about _woman stuff_."

That was all it took for the atmosphere to shift. Wentworth coughed his water back into his glass and started scrambling for his food tray. "All right, Rich, let's leave the ladies to their business." Ladies' business, as if there was anything more taboo. "Come on, let's go see what's on TV."

The men hurried out like the kitchen was on fire.

Maggie waited for them to settle down. She could hear the quiet squeak of wooden tray tables being set up, followed by Mr. Tozier warning Richie not to spill his drink on the couch: "Your mother will have a cow if you do, and we'll never be allowed to do this again." The rest of their conversation was drowned out by the cool, jazzy theme to _Wheel of Fortune_, and Pat Sajak was thanking everyone for tuning in.

Maggie sat down across from her daughter. "He was here yesterday, wasn't he?" Her tone was calm but sharply undercut with disappointment.

Evelyn crossed her arms defensively. "Only for fifteen minutes or so."

_(And here's our first puzzle.)_

"Evelyn, we've talked about this."

"I know," she replied in a slow, almost threatening way.

Maggie didn't back down. "Then you already know how I feel about it. And I'll tell you what, I don't appreciate Henry Bowers turning my fifteen-year-old daughter into his personal drug dealer."

Evelyn scoffed. "It was just some over-the-counter shit, Mom. I'll buy you more if it bothers you that much."

(_And what would you like to do now?_

_I'd like to buy a vowel. O, please._)

"That's not that point, and you know it," Maggie said, getting angrier than she would have liked. "The boy's sixteen years old. He's more than capable of getting his own medicine now." He had no reason to come sniffing around her house, around her teenaged daughter. "I think he comes here to see you, and I gotta be honest, Evelyn, I don't like it. I don't like it at all."

Evelyn's expression hardened. "So what do you want me to do, Mom? Kick him out? Slam the door in his face?"

"Of course not. I just want you to be careful, that's all. He's not that sad little boy anymore, Evelyn." He was a man now, violent and unstable, with an explosive temper and a short fuse. Evelyn thought she could handle him, but Maggie feared it was only a matter of time before the boy snapped. "He doesn't need you to protect him."

"I know that," Evelyn said stubbornly, her voice strained with heartache. "I just … I dunno, I just can't abandon him. It'd mean I failed or something."

"Failed?" Maggie felt her stomach twist into a knot. "Honey, you haven't failed. His issues are deeper than any of us can ever understand. You can't expect to fix them yourself."

"I know."

The two women sighed at the same time. Out in the living room, Pat Sajak asked the contestant to spin again.

"Has he talked about it at all?" Maggie asked.

"No," Evelyn answered with a pitiful chuckle, "and I know better than to ask. It took me so long to get him this far, Mom. If I mess up and say the wrong thing or ask the wrong question, he'll just close up again, and I'll never be able to bring him out of it. I already crossed the line once, and now … now things are just weird between us. It's like I've lost four years of progress just like that."

"What happened?"

Evelyn shook her head, cheeks flushing a soft shade of pink. "I don't wanna talk about it."

"That bad, huh?"

"Worse."

"Ahh." Maggie decided to leave it at that. Whatever it was, it was obviously very private and deeply personal. Not something for a mother's ears. "Just promise me you have everything under control this time, okay? I don't want you taking on more than you can handle. You've got enough on your plate as it is, with school and tutoring and everything else you do." Maggie couldn't even keep track anymore. "The last thing you need is to have another nervous breakdown right before finals, so make sure you eat properly, get your sleep, and focus on what's really important. Deal?"

"Deal."

"Good." That made Maggie feel a little better. She smacked the table with both hands and pushed herself to her feet. "Now, let's move on to the more important question: do you want chicken or beef?"

Evelyn didn't seem to care either way. "Chicken, I guess."

"That means it's beef for me." Maggie looked at the box of Salisbury steak and thought the picture looked appetizing enough. "Eh, what the hell. Goes better with red wine anyway."

She poured herself a glass while her dinner was cooking in the microwave. Afterwards, the women joined the men in the living room to finish _Wheel of Fortune_. Mr. Tozier already had his wife's tray ready, and Richie was nice enough to make a space for his older sister on the couch. Maggie looked at her family for a moment, enjoying the comfortable silence that fell around them so naturally, and then she cut into her steak with her fork.

It was absolutely disgusting.

"Oh, by the way," Evelyn said during the commercial break, "I got invited to a party tomorrow night. Can I go?"

2

"No way, you actually got invited to a senior party?" Hannah-Beth's shocked expression resembled the one Evelyn's mother had given her the night before, right before Richie busted out laughing. "How'd that happen?"

Her family had asked that, too, but it sounded far less sarcastic when Hannah-Beth said it.

"I dunno," Evelyn answered, still in disbelief, "it was the craziest thing."

She had just gotten kicked out of Principal Hellyer's office (after another unproductive conversation regarding Henry's academic status) when she decided to freshen up in the restroom before her second-period class. Greta Bowie and Sally Mueller were in one of the stalls, giggling and whispering to each other. They ran out just as Evelyn was coming in, and Evelyn quickly discovered the source of their laughter. A new message had been added to the wall with red marker:

**BEAVERLY MARSH IS A BIG FAT SLUT **

_Beaverly?_ Evelyn thought, confused by the nickname, and then she remembered the red-haired girl she had caught smoking in the bathroom. _Beverly, that's her name. Beverly Marsh, the janitor's daughter. _She felt bad for not remembering her name, but Beverly was a seventh-grader (one of about thirty-six) and didn't participate in any school activities. Evelyn never really had the chance to get to know her.

Elizabeth Mueller came out of the second stall and saw the message, too. "You'd think they'd come up with something more clever than that," she said, appearing on Evelyn's left. "I mean, that's the kind of stupid shit we used to write when I was in the seventh grade. Then again, we weren't terribly original either. I think I called Jackie a squinty-eyed skank once and thought it was hilarious." Elizabeth wasn't laughing now, though. In fact, she sounded kind of sad. "But, hey, girls are bitches, right?"

"I guess," Evelyn muttered, feeling conflicted. It was hard to picture Liz Mueller as a mean girl like Greta or Sally when she always seemed so nice. _And she bought one of my shirts. _Evelyn would never forget that.

Liz walked back to the mirror, where she began to reapply her makeup with a very light but practiced touch. Evelyn couldn't help but watch, committing every tiny motion to memory. Later that night, she would try to copy her technique stroke for stroke in front of her bedroom mirror, but the end result wouldn't be the same. Somehow, Liz made everything look perfect and effortless.

Self-consciously, Evelyn started messing with her own hair.

"You wrote things, too?" she asked.

Liz unscrewed a tube of red lipgloss and started working on her lips. "Oh, yeah, tons of things. Not something I'm proud of, but what can you do? I was young and stupid. Thought I was hot shit or something." She rubbed her freshly-glossed lips together, smacked them once, then dabbed the corner with her fingertip. "Most of us grow out of it. Hopefully, my sister will too." Then she turned toward Evelyn and smiled beautifully. "You're really nice. Keep it that way, okay?"

Evelyn didn't know what to say, so she just nodded.

"Anyway," Liz went on, "I'm having a party tomorrow night. Nothing major, just a casual get-together with some friends. You should come. There are some people I want you to meet."

"And that's it," Evelyn said, finishing her story with a shrug. "Next thing I know, she's writing down her address on my hand." She showed Hannah-Beth the faint imprint that remained. If not for that, Evelyn would have thought it was all a dream.

"Wow, West Broadway," Hannah-Beth gushed. "That's where all the rich kids live, isn't it? Oh, now you have to go! Please tell me you are."

"I dunno yet." Evelyn took one of the posters from her stack and tacked it on the freshman bulletin board. It looked nice there, framed by all the autumn-themed paper decorations. A little nudge to the right and it would be perfect. She quickly made the adjustment. "My parents said I could, but I'm thinking I shouldn't. Parties aren't really my thing." She had been to a few before and found them kind of boring. "Besides, it'll mostly be seniors anyway. I won't have anyone to talk to."

She continued down the empty hallway with her stack of posters. Hannah-Beth followed with a stack her own.

"That's exactly why you have to go," Hannah-Beth insisted. "Sophomores never get invited to senior parties, but Liz Mueller invited you personally. It's a huge deal."

"That's true." Evelyn stopped to carefully place another poster. Once it looked perfect, she moved on. "And it'd be rude not to go."

"Exactly! You don't want to be rude to Liz, do you? I mean, she bought one of your shirts and donated an extra ten dollars to our fundraiser."

"She did." Evelyn paused to think it over and then put up two more posters: one by the men's restroom and another above the drinking fountain. "Maybe I'll stop by. Just for a little bit."

"Yes!" Hannah-Beth squealed, jumping up and down.

Unfortunately, her best friend didn't seem to share her enthusiasm. Right now, all Evelyn cared about was her posters. She was so happy when Paul finally got them approved. As soon as school let out at three, she raced to the office and had Miss Stoker print out fifty sheets in full color. Hannah-Beth thought fifty was a bit excessive, but Evelyn insisted on it. It cost her twenty-five bucks, and she said it was worth every penny.

They put up three posters in the cafeteria, two in the gymnasium, and one in the girls' locker room. Some of the football players were working out in the weight-lifting room, and Evelyn asked them to put up a poster in the boys' locker room when they were finished. Hannah-Beth didn't know if they said yes or not because Kenneth Klein was doing power squats on the other side of the room, and he was wearing some awfully tight sweatpants.

"Go Tigers," she murmured before Evelyn yanked her away.

In the band room, the pep band was practicing their setlist for the upcoming homecoming game. The girls bopped away to a lively rendition of "25 or 6 to 4" as they put up the rest of the first-floor posters. Then, before heading upstairs, Evelyn snuck a quick peek into the band room just to catch the last few bars of Jake Newham's trumpet solo.

Hannah-Beth came up beside her, wearing a coy smile. "Hey, you know what they say about trumpet players," she said, nudging Evelyn with her elbow. "They're pretty good with their lips."

"Who says that?" Evelyn had never heard such a thing.

Hannah-Beth blushed and reached back to rub her neck. "Uh, I dunno. I just feel like I've heard that somewhere. Or read it somewhere. Or maybe I made it up."

"But what does that mean? Like they're good kissers, or what?"

"Umm." Hannah-Beth's face went as red as a tomato. Now more than ever, she felt like a total pervert. "Who knows? I was just saying … Oh, look, empty wall space!" She spun around and slapped a poster on the wall before scurrying up the stairs.

Evelyn quickly caught up to her.

"You don't think Jake will be there, do you?" she asked as they walked side by side. "I think he's friends with Liz, but I don't know if they hang out outside of school or anything. I'd love to talk to him some more about the pep rally skit."

Hannah-Beth slowed her stride. "Evie, you can't talk to Jake about student council stuff at a party."

"Why not? That's what we always talk about."

"Because you're at a party, not a meeting. You have to talk to him like he's a man. Tease him. Toy with him. Flirt with him."

"But I don't wanna flirt with him. I wanna talk about the skit. The pep rally is in two weeks, you know. We don't have that much time to prepare."

"You would be worried about that at a time like this." Hannah-Beth hung her head, feeling hopeless. Evelyn had a golden opportunity right in front of her, and she didn't even see it. "You know, I bet if you actually made an effort, you could get Jake to go out with you. You two have so much in common already, and you'd look absolutely adorable together. All you need is a dog, and—boom!—you have a Christmas card."

"But I won't wanna date Jake," Evelyn said, brushing off the idea without even considering it. "I'm not interested in him like that, okay? I admire him and respect him as my president, that's all. Now, can we please finish putting these posters up? It's getting late," and Evelyn still had homework to do before Elizabeth's party.

"Okay," Hannah-Beth muttered. "Sorry."

Evelyn's smile was warm and forgiving. "There's an open spot behind you."

At her president's command, Hannah-Beth put up the poster and secured it with some tape. Twenty-eight down. Twenty-two to go.

3

Hannah-Beth was the first to finish her stack, so Evelyn let her go home early. "There's no point in both of us staying late, right?" Besides, Evelyn worked more efficiently by herself. Sure, she appreciated the company, but Hannah-Beth's posters were always a little crooked, and Evelyn wasted more energy fixing them than if she had just put them up herself. She already had to go back and readjust a few on the first floor, and that wasted ten minutes of her time.

Evelyn was down to her last five sheets when she stumbled across the detention room, where Victor Criss and Belch Huggins were sitting amongst the usual group of offenders: dress-code violators, class cutters, and kids who'd accumulated one too many tardies. Belch had his head resting in his palm while he attempted to read from his history book. Between the painfully boring subject matter and the teacher's incessant humming, it was impossible for him to keep his eyes open. He fell asleep once and was jolted awake by the loud slam of Mr. Harvey dropping a book on his desk. From then on, he made sure to stay awake.

On the other side of the room, Victor was working on his algebra homework, and on a particularly difficult problem, too. Evelyn could tell because he had his pencil in his mouth. Whenever he had to think real hard about something, he would start gnawing on the eraser end like a beaver. It was a terrible habit, especially for a kid with braces, but he couldn't help it.

If Evelyn weren't so mad, she would have tapped on the window and gotten his attention by waving or making a funny face. It always annoyed him when she did it, but he usually smiled a little when he thought she wasn't looking anymore.

It made her sad to think she might never see that hidden smile again.

She tried not to dwell on it as she carried on, ignoring the empty desk by the window, which had, up until about ten minutes ago, been occupied by Patrick Hockstetter.

Evelyn caught him walking out of the girls' bathroom while zipping up the fly of his dirty blue jeans. His appearance was slightly disheveled, his shirt bunched up to expose a small patch of skin on his lower abdomen, but he made no attempt to fix it. Probably because he didn't care. The smirk on his face sure seemed to suggest so. It was smug and very satisfied, and it only grew when he spotted Evelyn in the hallway.

"Evelyn." Her name rolled off his tongue like a groan. It made Evelyn feel dirty. "What are _you_ doing here so late?"

"What were you doing in the girls' bathroom?"

"Answer my question first."

"I'm putting up posters." She was down to her last one. When she tried to show it to him, he snatched it out of her hand so that he could look at it more closely.

And he did look at it, for an uncomfortably long time. Evelyn almost didn't want it back when he finally returned it to her, and she didn't like it when he called it "cute," either. The word sounded gross coming from his lips, which were still smudged with pink lipstick.

"So?" she said. "I answered your question. Now answer mine."

Patrick opened his mouth to speak, but there was no need. A girl came out of the bathroom a second later, a senior whose name Evelyn didn't know—and didn't care to know, she decided, as a strange feeling of disgust started to well up inside her. It was obvious what they were doing. The girl's hair was tousled (even though she had tried to comb it before leaving), and her skirt was crinkled and slightly damp around her crotch. She had skipped a button while hurrying to button-up her blouse, too. Evelyn tried not to stare because it seemed to make her uncomfortable. Patrick didn't even look at her.

Nevertheless, the girl smiled at him timidly. "Umm, I'll see you around?"

It sounded more like a question than a send-off, and when Patrick didn't answer it, she looked down at the floor, muttered something under her breath, and then took off with an awkward, almost hobbled gait.

"That answer your question?" Patrick said, causing Evelyn's nose to wrinkle. "You're welcome to join us next time. God knows Kelly could use the help. Girl doesn't have a clue what to do. She just stands there, all stiff and quiet. It's like screwing a corpse."

"That's a weird analogy."

"Served its purpose, though, right?"

Evelyn nodded, then turned on her heel. "Goodbye, Patrick."

The walk downstairs felt like the longest walk of her life. Once she finally reached the bottom step, Evelyn slapped her last poster on the closest slab of empty wall space and decided to head home for the day.

Patrick found her while she was zipping up her backpack, and Evelyn thought she had the worst luck in the world. She resisted the urge to bash him in the face with her locker door.

Anything to get rid of that smile.

"You know, I had a dream about you last night," he said in a friendly, casual way. "You came to my house selling girl scout cookies and—"

Evelyn put her hand on his chest. "I'm gonna stop you right there, okay? I feel like there's a second half to that story, and I don't wanna hear it."

Patrick went oddly quiet. Then his eyes flickered down to his chest, where Evelyn's hand still rested. She felt his heart thump against her palm, steady and strong.

"I thought we agreed to not touch each other," he said with a taunting smile. "If you start breaking the rules, then I'll have no choice but to—"

Evelyn jerked her hand back and glared at him.

"What are you doing tonight?" he asked.

"Why?"

"Some guys are throwing a bonfire over at the quarry. You should come. It'll be fun."

Evelyn slung her backpack over her shoulder. "Thanks, but I already have plans."

He followed her towards the exit. "Oh? And what's on the schedule for tonight? Is Jake Newham finally taking you out on a date? Gonna share a milkshake over at the diner and talk about all the stupid shit you have in common?" He sounded annoyed, perhaps even a little jealous. Evelyn tried to go out one of the double doors, but he blocked her path with his body. "Then he'll drive you home. Send you off with a hug or maybe a kiss on the cheek because he's such a gentleman. You'll go to sleep, dreaming of your destination wedding, while he jerks off under his covers, thinking of all the things he should have done to you."

Evelyn patiently waited for him to finish, a resigned smile stuck to her face. "Are you done now?"

He laughed. "Yeah, I'm done. Now, what are you really doing?"

She smiled up at him. "None of your damn business." Then she stepped to the side and went out the other door. "Have fun at your bonfire, Patrick. I'll see you on Monday."


	12. Chapter 12

1

The Mueller house stood like a small stone castle on the corner of Witcham and West Broadway. The houses on this street were the biggest and most luxurious in all of Derry. This house was no exception. It was a massive two-story craftsman with siding made of brown wood (Mrs. Mueller would call it "taupe" because brown sounded too plain and ugly) and grey cobblestone, which contrasted beautifully with the freshly-painted white trim on all the windows. And there were a lot of windows, Evelyn realized, at least ten on the front side alone: big ones, small ones, square ones, round ones, all lit up and glowing behind silhouettes of dancing teenagers.

"Man, I'd hate to be the one to clean all those windows," her mother said, snorting at her own joke. To her, the house looked like nothing but work. The front landscaping alone probably took hours to maintain, with all that pruning and weeding. "And just look at that lawn. Could you imagine your brother mowing a lawn that big? It'd take him all day."

"Pretty sure they have a gardener," Evelyn said.

"Yeah, that makes sense."

An old two-door pulled up in front of Mrs. Tozier's blue Plymouth Voyager. A group of girls climbed out, giggling and hanging on each other as they stumbled up the driveway and up the porch steps. They didn't bother ringing the doorbell, and Evelyn decided she wouldn't either. Nobody inside would hear it anyway. As soon as they opened the front door, the music came pouring out like floodwater, the heavy bass pounding with a deep, thunderous _boom, boom, boom_. Evelyn could feel it from inside the car, and it made her excited and nervous all at the same time. Her heart raced as she reached for the door handle.

"Hey, wait," Mrs. Tozier said, bringing Evelyn's movements to a screeching halt. "First, we need to establish some ground rules."

Evelyn turned back. "Ground rules?"

Mrs. Tozier cringed. Yeah, it sounded just as weird when she heard herself say it. Maggie never considered herself a strict parent, especially when it came to her daughter, but after Sonia Kaspbrak called her a bad mother, Maggie thought it necessary to create a little more structure in her children's lives.

She started counting off on her fingers: "No drugs. No drinking. No unprotected sex."

"Mom!" Evelyn shrieked, leaving them both startled and embarrassed.

"What?" Mrs. Tozier said. "I'm a nurse, not a nun." She'd calmed her fair share of panicked teenagers, assuring them that one late period didn't necessarily point to pregnancy. "I know how teenagers behave, and it's perfectly natural. I was sexually active when I was your age."

"Eww, with Dad?"

That made her cackle. "Oh, he wishes. No, I didn't meet your father till college. He still thinks I was a virgin when we started dating, and I just don't have the heart to tell him the truth. Poor guy." She smiled a little, getting lost in the memory of those oh-so-sweet teenage years. The grimace on her daughter's face brought her crashing back to reality. "Look, I don't expect you to stay a virgin all through high school. I'm not as naive as your father. I do, however, expect you to make smart choices, okay? I don't wanna be raising my grandchild."

"Well, you don't have to worry about that," Evelyn said, her lips curling into a small, reassuring smile that seemed so mature for a girl her age. It left Mrs. Tozier speechless. "I'll be responsible, I promise. Can I go now?"

Mrs. Tozier suddenly felt bashful. "Of course. Go, go have fun."

Evelyn exited the car with a modest grace, her movements a little timid and unsure due to the short length of her denim skirt. Of course, she had worn such skirts before, to family gatherings and formal school functions, but always over leggings or pantyhose. It came as a great shock to her parents when she came downstairs, showing off her bare legs. Suddenly, as if it happened overnight, their little girl was a full-fledged teenager.

"Just be careful when you sit down," Mrs. Tozier reminded her daughter again. "Remember, knees together. You don't wanna be flashing your panties at everyone."

That made Evelyn laugh, her nerves finally settling. "I'll keep that in mind. Thanks."

Headlights flashed in the distance. Another car was on its way. That was Mrs. Tozier's cue to leave.

"Okay, have fun. Call us when you're ready to come home."

"I will. Thanks for the ride."

Evelyn waved goodbye twice that night: once outside the car and once at the top of the driveway. The first was a sweet and innocent gesture, like an anxious child getting dropped off on the first day of school. The second was more confident and assertive. _I've got this, Mom_, the second wave said._ You can go now._

And Mrs. Tozier did.

2

Evelyn watched her mom's minivan continue down West Broadway for a couple hundred feet and then turn right at the stop sign, vanishing behind a small grove of apple trees.

It was a surreal feeling, standing outside Liz Mueller's home. Even the walk to the door felt like a dream. Her hand glided effortlessly up the smooth, wrought iron railing. Potted pansies sprang up on either side of her, bursting into vivid hues of red, yellow, and violet. Evelyn stopped once to smell them. Their fragrance was as lovely and inviting as the perfume Liz always wore. Evelyn closed her eyes and thought this might be the best night of her life.

"It's just a flower, kid," said a rough yet feminine voice. Evelyn walked around the porch and saw a girl sitting on the swing with a lit cigarette in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other. She brought the bottle to her lips and smirked. "Or are you one of those hopeless romantics that sees beauty in the birds and the trees and all that shit?"

"No, I'm not." Evelyn was struggling to see the beauty now. The porch lights softened the girl's sharp features somewhat, obscuring the lines of her nose and cheekbones, but they did little to warm her cold stare. "I know you, I think. I've seen your picture in the paper a few times. You're Marcella, right?"

"Marci," the girl corrected before taking a quick drag from her cigarette. "Only my dad calls me 'Marcella.' And you don't know me, just like I don't know you. Right, Tozier?" She flashed a mocking smile. "I've seen you in the paper, too. Little Miss Perfect."

"I'm not perfect," Evelyn said. "And obviously I don't know you personally, but I do know who you are. You're Marci Espinoza. You're a senior. You run track and cross country—"

"No," Marci growled, kicking off with both feet. The bench went swinging; chains groaned, wood creaked, and beer swished back and forth in the glass bottle, but not a single drop spilled. "I ran track and cross country," she said, sneering. "Ran. Past tense. You should know the difference."

"Why'd you quit?"

"Reasons." That was all she said. Reasons.

Whatever they were, she washed them down with the rest of her beer and then wiped her mouth on her sleeve. The smile that remained on her red lips was tragically beautiful. Practically Shakespearean, Evelyn thought.

Maybe she was a romantic, after all.

"So what are you doing out here?" Evelyn asked. It had to be a little lonely sitting out in the cold by herself.

"Just preparing," Marci said. She brought the cigarette to her lips and took a long drag as she rocked back and forth.

"Preparing for what?"

Marci tilted her head back and blew out all the smoke. "You'll see."

Another cryptic response, but this one made Evelyn uncomfortable. "Well, sorry for bothering you." She could tell her presence was no longer wanted, so she decided to head inside and enjoy the party.

3

Again, Evelyn had been to other parties before. Not many, but a few. The most recent had been Marcia Silcott's fourteenth birthday party, which, at the time, was a pretty big deal because (1) Marcia's parents had a pool in their backyard and (2) they let her invite boys. As far as parties go, that was basically the teenage equivalent of renting a private petting zoo, which, yes, Marcia's parents had done, too, when she turned seven.

In hindsight, the petting zoo would have been more fun. The boys spent the afternoon doing cannonballs in Marcia's pool while the girls laid out in the sun, refusing to get wet. Later that night, they all stood around in Marcia's living room, boys on one side of the room and girls on the other, silently sipping punch and eating chips. Christie Gibson suggested they play seven minutes in heaven, and the whole room became filled with this nervous, sexual energy that nobody knew how to handle.

Evelyn got locked in the closet with Denny Booker, who spent the whole seven minutes fidgeting in the corner. When Evelyn tapped him on the shoulder (to tell him their time was up), he just about had a heart attack.

The other couples didn't fare much better. Ashton Griphin claimed he'd made it all the way to second base with Mallory Stone and felt up her chest. Mallory told all the girls Ashton never made it past first because he was an awful kisser and used way too much tongue. None of the girls knew what "too much tongue" exactly meant (they had yet to get even a little tongue), but they all agreed it sounded gross.

Now, Evelyn didn't expect Liz Mueller's party to be anything like that. Seniors didn't play kiddie games like spin the bottle or seven minutes in heaven. Instead, their party games revolved around alcohol.

Lots of alcohol.

Needless to say, Evelyn felt a little out of place.

For the first twenty minutes, she sat on the far end of an upholstered sofa (with her knees together) while, on the other end, a senior and her much-older boyfriend tried to suck the air out of each other's lungs. Elsewhere, teens were dancing hip-to-hip to the latest pop song. Two boys were dragging in a second cooler of beer through the back door while another poured half a bottle of vodka into the punch bowl. Evelyn locked eyes with him for a second, and he put his finger to his lips before dumping in the rest.

Oh, and she had yet to even see Liz Mueller.

_I should've just stayed home._ Evelyn sighed, debating how long she should wait before leaving. The boy on the couch started kissing and biting the girl's neck, leaving a trail of pink bruise-like marks.

Evelyn winced. "Doesn't that hurt?"

The question just sort of popped out, but it made the girl giggle. "Not really," she answered sweetly while the boy switched to the other side, "but it does feel a little weird at first. The real tricky part is covering up the marks before your parents see them. Makeup works, but only if you have the right concealer. When it doubt, just wear a turtleneck."

The boy smiled against her skin. "Or you can just wear 'em proudly like she does."

"Yeah, don't do that. Everyone will think you're a slut."

"Okay," Evelyn said, even though she had no intention of ever wearing one of those marks, secretly or not.

"Anyway," the girl went on, reaching across the sofa to shake Evelyn's hand, "I'm Desiree, but most people just call me 'Des.' This one here is Danny, but don't call him 'Dan' or 'Daniel' because he hates that."

"That's right, I do," Danny said, and he took Desiree by the chin and started kissing her roughly, using what Evelyn now realized was way too much tongue, but Desiree didn't seem to mind.

"I'm Evelyn," she finished. "It's nice to meet you."

Desiree broke off her lover's kiss. "Wait," she said in between breaths. "You're Evelyn?" Evelyn nodded, and Desiree's expression changed. When Danny tried to pull her back for another kiss, she pushed him away. "Not now, _Daniel_."

He rolled his eyes and backed off. "You owe me."

Desiree told him to go grab her a beer, which he did but only because he wanted one, too. Once he was gone, Desiree slid across the sofa to where Evelyn was sitting and leaned in really close.

"Have you talked to Liz yet?" she asked.

"No," Evelyn answered hesitantly. The girl's eyes, which had once been clouded with lust, were now clear and eerily focused. Focused on her. "I haven't even seen her. Why? Is she looking for me or something?"

Suddenly, Desiree got up. "Wait here. I'll go find her."

"Okay."

Evelyn didn't understand what was going on, but she did as Desiree asked. Danny came back a few minutes later, holding two beers, and plopped down beside her.

"You know," he said, staring out with half-lidded eyes, "you look like someone who bakes. Do you bake, Evelyn?"

"Yeah, a little."

His head bobbed up and down. "I knew it, I knew it. You just have that look about you."

Evelyn smiled awkwardly. "Okay."

Thankfully, Desiree came back shortly after that, and she had Liz Mueller with her.

"Oh, I'm so glad you made it!" Liz said, pulling Evelyn into a warm hug. "Sorry I made you wait so long. I swear, I wasn't trying to blow you off or anything. Someone dropped a beer bottle out by the jacuzzi, and there was glass, like, everywhere. Then Candice cut her foot on it and threatened to sue me because she gets stupid when she's drunk, and, yeah, it became this whole crazy, over-dramatic thing, but, whatever, it's done now. At least you got to meet Des."

Across the room, Desiree flashed a quick wave with two fingers while cradling her beer.

Evelyn waved back. "Yeah, she's great," she said to Liz. "Was that who you wanted to introduce me to?"

"Des? No, not exactly. For that, you'll need to come with me."

"Come with you where?"

"You'll see," she said, smiling, but it wasn't the same beautiful, effortless smile Evelyn was used to seeing. This one was forced, painted on like cheap lipstick. "Des, can you go get everyone?"

Desiree lowered her beer in mid-drink. "We're doing this now?"

"Yes, now. Evelyn, come with me."

If the walk to Liz's house was a dream, then everything after that was a total nightmare. All of a sudden, Evelyn found herself in Liz Mueller's bedroom, where everything was pretty and pink, surrounded by about ten junior and senior girls. Some she knew, like Sasha Gunt, but most were little more than yearbook pictures to her. Evelyn sat on the bed, staring around anxiously, while even more trickled in.

"Wait, where's the other Anna?" Liz asked Anna K when she entered the room, giggling at seemingly nothing.

"Hmm?" said Anna K. "Oh, she's smoking a joint in the bathroom." Anna paused for a second, eyes widening, then collapsed into giggles again. "Whoops, probably wasn't supposed to say that."

Anna K and Anna W were two juniors who became best friends because they were both named Anna and had last names that nobody in Derry could properly pronounce. At school, they were practically inseparable. Tonight was no different. As soon as Anna W came in, the two of them crammed themselves onto the window bench and ignored everyone else.

In fact, nobody was talking.

"What's going on?" Evelyn asked, getting everyone's attention. "Am I about to be inducted into some kinda super secret club or something?"

Nervous laughter rose up around her.

One of the girls on the floor said, "You're already in the club, sweetie."

Evelyn didn't like the sound of that.

The last girl to enter was Marci Espinoza, who bucked off Liz's friendly greeting and positioned herself as far away from everyone else as possible. Her deep brown eyes met Evelyn's and flashed with a sort of "I told you so." Then she said to Liz, "Well? Can we get this over with already?"

Evelyn turned around. "Yeah, what's going on?"

Liz sat crossed-legged on the bed with one of the decorative pillows on her lap. "Evelyn," she said, playing with the fringe, "have you noticed anything weird going on lately?"

"No," Evelyn answered. "I mean, nothing weirder than usual. Why?"

"It's just ... I noticed Patrick's been hanging around you a lot these last couple days. Some of the other girls have noticed it, too, and we just wanted to make sure you were, um, okay, I guess."

_Okay? Why wouldn't I be ...?_ "Oh!" Evelyn said, flattered by their concern. "No, everything's fine, really. Patrick's just being Patrick. Sure, it's a little annoying, but it's not anything you guys should be worried about. Really, he's harmless."

Back by the window, the two Annas were laughing. Evelyn turned to ask what was so funny, but then Liz Mueller was at her elbow, drawing her back.

"He hasn't ever showed up unexpectedly?" she asked. "At places you wouldn't expect him to be, like, say, your house?"

Evelyn shrugged. "Uh, yeah, he showed up at my house one night. Then another time he was at the library, but—"

"He used to show up at my house, too," Liz said with a solemn nod. "He would follow me home from school a lot. It didn't really bother me at first. I used to think he was kinda cute and, whatever, he's fun to flirt with. But then things started getting weird. Suddenly, he was everywhere. I would see him while out shopping. I'd see him at the pool or on the way to my friend's house. It started to really creep me out."

"So what happened?" Evelyn asked, interested but still a little confused. What exactly did this have to do with her?

"Well, I started dating Pete, and he eventually backed off, moved onto someone else."

"Moved onto me," Sasha said, raising her hand. "Thanks a lot, Liz."

Liz smiled apologetically, and Sasha went on talking:

"Anyway, Patrick didn't really need to stalk me or anything. I was already pretty into him. Call me stupid, but I was just glad to be getting some attention for once." One of the other girls scoffed at that, and Sasha frowned, burrowing herself into her yellow turtleneck. "I mean, you know how it is, Evelyn. Most guys at school don't even notice us. So, yeah, I enjoyed the attention Patrick gave me, and yeah, I let him do whatever he wanted to me. Yeah, that probably makes me stupid, but, whatever, I guess I got what I deserved then."

"Don't say that, Sasha," Liz said. "What happened wasn't your fault."

Sasha didn't care to listen. "Look, you can think what you want, but at the end of the day, I asked him to do it, so—"

"You did not ask him to put a belt around your neck!" Liz suddenly yelled. "My god, stop blaming yourself!"

The whole room collapsed into a stunned silence. Fifteen pairs of eyes landed on Sasha Gunt and that yellow turtleneck sweater. Evelyn was staring too, her fingers brushing against the base of her own throat. A belt around the neck, getting tighter and tighter. The mere thought of it made her shiver.

"What the fuck, Liz!" Sasha cried, crumbling underneath everyone's gaze. "You promised you wouldn't say anything!"

"Well, she needs to know!"

"Nobody needs to know! That's my fucking business, Liz! I told you that in confidence!"

Evelyn stood up from the bed, knees wobbling. "Um, I think I should go. This whole thing is just really weird, and it has nothing to do with me, so—" She looked back at Sasha, who was holding back tears. "I'm really sorry that happened to you, and you should probably talk to someone about it if you haven't already, but, um, I have to go. I can't stay here." All the tension in the room was pressing down on her chest, and it was becoming difficult to breathe, and—"I just really need to go. Sorry, Liz."

She ran for the door.

"Evelyn, this has everything to do with you," Liz said from the bed. "Can't you see what's happening?"

"He hasn't done anything!" Evelyn shouted back. "There's nothing going on, so I don't know why I'm here!"

As soon as she reached for the knob, Marci spoke up from the corner of the room:

"You're wasting your time, Liz. I mean, look at her. She doesn't care what happened to any of us. Did you really think this—whatever the hell this is—was actually gonna accomplish anything? She's not gonna listen to you. She thinks she knows better."

"What?" Evelyn stepped away from the door. "That's not true. I never said that."

"You don't have to. It's written all over your face. You think you're better than us. You think you're smarter than us. You won't make the same mistake we did."

"No, I don't—"

"It's okay," Marci said, wearing that same tortured smile Evelyn had once admired. "I thought the same thing, too. Shit, we all did. But, you know what, he still got us in the end because that's what he does. The guy's a leech, a fuckin' parasite. Sooner or later, he'll get you, too. But don't worry, Tozier. Smart as you are, you'll probably make it out okay."

Evelyn's mouth opened and closed. Once. Twice. She didn't know what to say. Fifteen pairs of eyes bore down upon her, judging her, pitying her, making her feel so small and vulnerable.

"Is this why you invited me to your house?" she asked Liz, her voice breaking with emotion. "I thought you wanted to be friends."

The depressed look on Evelyn's face was heartbreaking. "Of course not," Liz started to say, but then the two Annas started laughing again, making the whole thing seem like one big joke at the poor girl's expense. Liz whipped around and snapped at them: "God, would you two shut up? That's not—Evelyn!"

Before she could stop her, Evelyn yanked the door open and ran out. Liz tried to go after her, but she tripped over one of the girl's legs and crashed face-first into the hallway.

"Evelyn!" she yelled, as pain shot up her arm. "Evelyn, come back!"

4

Victor Criss was slowly spiraling into his second hour of self-loathing when he heard the car horn outside. It came blaring through the open window like a siren. Vic rolled over and threw his pillow over his head. Not tonight, he begged. Please, not tonight. He wasn't in the mood to go to another party, especially not Martin Davers's dumb bonfire. It was just an excuse for him to get girls drunk and take advantage of them.

But then they started up again. Two long, aggressive honks. If he just ignored them, maybe they'd think he was asleep. Or dead.

_Hooooonk! Hooooonk! Hooooonk!_

"Fuck off!" Vic growled, squeezing his pillow tightly before whipping it across the room. It landed somewhere on his desk, knocking over the lamp his mother had bought to help him study. He didn't care if it broke. The damned thing hardly worked anyway.

But now he was wide awake and extremely irritated. Fuck it, he thought, might as well go out.

He grabbed his jacket and went out to meet them.

Back when they were thirteen, going out with the guys used to mean something completely different. It used to actually be fun. They were a bigger group then—a real gang—six members strong, with Moose Sadler, Peter Gordon, and Gard Jagermeyer. Peter was a couple years older than the rest, but he and Vic got along really well because they were both book smart and didn't have to hide it around each other. Gard and Moose were dumb as bricks, but they were big for their age and provided some extra muscle. Henry liked that.

The six of them would roam around town, acting like a bunch of punks or jackasses, whatever the old folks wanted to call them. Some days, they would make a game of tossing rocks at the row of brick buildings that made up the warehouse district. Ten points if you put one through a window. Twenty if it completely shattered. Other days, they would take turns shooting each other with Moose Sadler's BB gun. They had started out shooting at bottles and cans like normal kids, but that wasn't as exciting as a live, moving target. Vic still carried some of the scars on his arms and legs. Belch had a lot more because he was bigger and slower.

Then there were the quieter days, the days when even Henry Bowers wanted to just kick back and relax. On those days, they would all sneak into the train yard for a little freight-hopping. They called it that, but they never actually went anywhere. Except once. Once, they got awfully close to actually leaving Derry altogether. Henry seemed to be the only one who seriously meant it. While the other boys chickened out and jumped off one after another, Henry rode the railway all the past the city limits, following the Kenduskeag until he hit the next town over. The rest of the boys thought he might be gone for good, but he came back later that night and made the long trudge up his father's porch. Vic always wondered if he came back because he wanted to or because he felt like he had to.

Things changed as they got older, but it happened slowly, so slowly that Vic couldn't even see it until he was already in the thick of it. After that, there was no going back. All of a sudden, their Friday nights were spent exactly like this: sitting around an open fire with a bottle of cheap beer, drinking until they felt numb.

Sometimes, when Vic was feeling particularly miserable, he would look around and catch himself thinking, _What the hell happened?_

He was thinking that now, as a girl came up beside him and started snuggling against his arm. Said she was feeling cold all of a sudden, like that was his problem.

"Should've brought a jacket then," Vic replied boredly.

Without invitation, the girl laid her head against his shoulder. Her hair smelled like strawberries and cigarettes.

"Well, that's no fun," she said, gathering her lips into a playful pout. "You know, my friend thinks you're just shy."

Vic rolled his eyes. "Don't know what gave her that idea."

"Oh?" The girl pulled away and smiled at him sweetly, her brown eyes shaded by long black lashes. Vic felt something stir inside him when she did that. A tiny flicker of desire. "So you're just the quiet type, huh?"

"No," he replied, "I just hate people."

Her jaw dropped; then she started to laugh. "Well, what about me?" she asked, fluttering her eyelashes. "Do you hate me?"

"I don't even know you," Vic said dully, "but, yeah, I guess I do."

The flame went out in a puff of smoke. Her smile went with it, a flush of embarrassment consuming her pretty face. She punched him hard on the arm and called him a jerk, then got up and stormed back over to her friends.

Across the fire, Martin Davers was laughing his ass off. "Aww, don't take it personally, sweetie. Vic's a miserable fuck who hates everyone."

Vic glared at him. _Not everyone, just you. _

Martin may have considered them friends now (in a casual, meaningless sort of way), but to Vic, he would always be the asshole who beat up his friend back in the summer of '85. Two of his buddies held Jimmy Duncan by the arms while Martin punched him until his knuckles bled. Vic didn't remember how many punches the kid took before he eventually passed out. After a while, Vic lost count. But he did remember, quite vividly, how Evelyn's screams rang up around them. The sound was still with him, even now.

But another drink would make it go away. It always did.

Patrick Hockstetter was sitting with Martin's group. If Martin hadn't spoken up just now, Vic probably would have never noticed him. The guy had a talent for blending seamlessly into a crowd.

In fact, as Vic really thought about it, he couldn't remember how exactly Patrick had managed to get into their group in the first place. Nobody invited him. Nobody even really knew him. He just showed up one day, this gangly, goofy-looking guy, and Henry never told him to leave, so he stuck around.

Now, they couldn't get rid of him.

Patrick had Steph Price on his lap while she chatted away with April Nilsen. Every so often, he would start to rub her inner thighs over the fabric of her jeans. In response, Steph would rock her hips back into him slowly, casually, never once breaking eye contact with her friend. This continued for a good hour before Patrick whispered something into Steph's ear, bringing a coy smile to her face. Then she stood up, taking Patrick by the hand, and led him away to where everyone's cars were parked.

"So, Bowers," Martin piped up again, his arm slung around some girl, "I heard they're finally kicking you out for good. That true?"

The question stirred Henry from the sharp, brooding stare he'd been giving the fire all night. He sat up and rolled some of the stiffness out of his shoulders before settling back into a smug, uncaring slouch.

"If Hellyer's actually got the balls to do it." Henry shrugged. "Fuck if I care."

"Fuck if I care," Martin echoed, raising his bottle in a lazy toast. He drank the whole thing down and then tossed it aside. "God, somebody needs to teach that uppity little bitch a lesson."

"Who?" asked the girl beside him.

"Evelyn Tozier. You've probably seen her around. The girl's like a walking after school special or something."

"Oh," she grunted, disinterested. "Yeah, I know her. She's the one always putting up those dumbass flyers. 'Hugs not Drugs' and all that shit. Goes around acting all sweet and cheerful and peppy. I swear, I can hear her from across the school. That fuckin' voice, man, it's like nails on a chalkboard. _Okay, guys, let's all have a good day!" _Some of the other girls laughed. She took another drink. "I mean, she's gotta be on something, right? No one's that energetic on a Monday morning."

"She's high on life!" April Nilsen chirped in a mocking falsetto.

Everyone laughed. Martin Davers cracked open another beer.

_Okay, just leave it at that_, Vic thought, keeping a watchful eye on Henry Bowers. It may not have looked like the boy was listening as he slowly sipped his beer, but Vic knew he was. He could tell from the way Henry was holding the bottle. If he gripped it any tighter, the damn thing would have shattered.

Belch noticed it, too. "You wanna go, Henry?"

Henry wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his jacket.

"Girl just needs some dick," said Martin, because that was his remedy for everything. Some of the girls gave him dirty looks for that comment, but he brushed them off. "I'm serious, I'm serious. Someone needs to bend that little bitch over a desk and show her what's what. It'll loosen her up a little."

Vic and Belch looked at each other. Between them, Henry was seething.

"Let's go, Henry," Belch said. "Let's call it a night."

Henry didn't seem to hear him. He took another drink. Martin was laughing now, making lewd jokes about Evelyn's body and all the things he planned on doing to it. With every vile word that spewed from his mouth, the muscles in Henry's neck got a little tighter, a little tighter. His free hand clenched into a fist, getting tighter and tighter. His beer was almost gone. The last two chugs went down like nails.

Across the fire, Martin Davers suddenly yelped like a dog as a stream of cold beer came pouring down onto his lap.

"Wha—Who the fuck—?"

He jumped up and whipped around, fists ready to swing. Behind him stood Patrick Hockstetter, holding an empty bottle of beer. Martin demanded an explanation, not that it much mattered. Patrick tossed his head to one side and said very plainly, "Thought you needed to cool off."

Martin stood there a minute, puzzled and confused. Then he let out a barking laugh. "God, you're a crazy sonofabitch, Hockstetter. D'you know that?" He slapped Patrick on the shoulder and shoved him back. "Get this man another beer. He's gone 'n wasted his."

Henry pushed himself to his feet.

"Where you going, Henry?" Vic asked, looking up at him.

His nostrils flared. "To take a piss. You wanna watch?"

Vic shrank back and took a swig of his beer.

"Thought so."

Henry shouldered his way past everyone and went off into the woods alone.

5

The cold wind felt nice as it came sweeping through the tall trees: oaks, maples, pines, and firs. From way out here, Martin's bonfire was nothing more than a tiny flame beyond the tree line. Henry decided to keep going. Warm red-orange leaves gave off into deep greens and browns the further he hiked. When he decided he'd gone far enough, he sat down in the dirt and lit up a cigarette he'd drawn from his pocket.

His neck loosened as he exhaled the smoke, head rolling back on his shoulders, eyes drifting closed. Then, very slowly, he began counting back from ten.

Nine.

Eight.

By seven, he would feel some of the tension leaving his muscles. His heartbeat would settle into a calm, steady rhythm.

Six.

Five.

By four, something would set him off again. A single thought would spark up out of nowhere and set his whole mind blazing. He would start thinking about what Martin Davers said about Evelyn. What he said he'd do to her.

By three, he'd be picturing in his head. Seeing it like it was happening in front of him.

By two, he'd wanna go down there and kick the guy's teeth in. Henry would get up like he was about to, but then he'd sit back down, take a long drag from his cigarette, and start back at

Ten.

Nine.

Eight.

Evelyn was probably in her bedroom now, reading quietly under the covers or doing homework at her desk. If things were different between them, Henry would have been there, too. He would have been lying on her bed, staring at all the stupid postcards she had on the wall, while she worked quietly at her desk, careful not to make too much noise and disturb him. He'd spot a card he didn't recognize and ask about it. She'd tell him more than he wanted to hear, but it was impossible to shut her up once she got going. Then she'd go back to her homework, and Henry would roll onto his side and eventually fall asleep, listening to the sound of her reading voice.

If ... If he went there now, would she—?

A twig snapped in the distance, putting Henry on alert. He got up and reached for his pocketknife, then relaxed a little as a girl came stumbling out from between two pine trees. She was a senior, tall and full-figured, with wide hips and a small waist that made her ample chest look even bigger.

Henry put out his cigarette with his boot. "What the hell do you want?"

"Nothing," she answered with a lazy, crooked smile. "I just realized something tonight. Why don't any of the girls ever come up to you?"

Henry scoffed. "Fuck if I know."

He assumed she was trying to get a rise out of him.

"You're cute enough, though," she said, her voice a gentle murmur in the night. Henry watched carefully as she came towards him, swaying her hips back and forth. He could see her face more clearly now. Deep brown eyes met his in a sultry stare as she reached out to feel his chest. "A little rugged and rough around the edges, but, still, pretty damn sexy. Don't think the girls your age see that yet." She smirked. "Lucky me."

Henry lurched away as she reached her hand out, intending to brush back some of his hair. The girl saw this and smiled brazenly.

"Has anyone kissed you yet?" she whispered, leaning into him. Henry stared at her lips. They were full and soft, glistening in the moonlight. "Hmm?"

Henry looked back into her eyes, getting lost in them. The answer was stuck somewhere in his throat. Before he could get it out, her hand came up again, fingers curling around the back of his neck. She drew him close and pressed her soft lips against his. The kiss tasted like alcohol and cherry chapstick. He stiffened and pulled away.

"Not interested?" the girl said, searching his face for an answer. "I suppose you've never had one of these before, either."

Her hands went to his belt, fumbling with the metal buckle. Henry realized what she was doing and tightly clamped his hands over hers. His knuckles, red and chapped from the cold, were now turning white. "Stop," he said, but he wasn't sure if the word ever left his lips. His heart was beating so loud.

She kissed him again. "Relax," she whispered against him. "You're gonna like this, I promise."

Her words coaxed him into complying. His hands loosened and dropped to his sides as his belt came undone. She slipped her hand into the waistline of his boxers and found him instantly, touching him with a firm, experienced hand. Henry watched her, confused and curious, but also—although he would never admit it—a little scared. The fingers on his right hand started to curl. He wanted to push her away. If she were a guy, he would have taken her head off, but he couldn't. Even if he did, it wouldn't help. She would just go back to the party and tell everyone he was a homo for refusing her, and they'd all say that made a lot of sense because no girls ever came up to him anyway.

His hand loosened again. He decided to close his eyes and go somewhere else for a while. Somewhere far, like in one of those postcards on Evelyn's wall. He tried to go, but he only made it as far as Evelyn's room, which was okay because that was the only place he really wanted to be. Lying on her pink-and-yellow floral quilt that always smelled like her body wash. Watching her read at her desk, her head propped neatly upon one hand, as her yellow highlighter glided across the page. Then she'd turn around, their eyes would meet, and she'd smile once before turning back.

Her name drifted from his lips like a desperate moan.

"What did you say?" said another voice.

Henry stirred groggily, as if awoken from a dream. "Huh?"

The girl was on her knees now, looking up at him. Henry's jeans had fallen around his ankles, and the cold was biting at his skin, making him shiver.

She kissed his thigh. "Relax."

Henry tried to, but he couldn't. The room wasn't the same anymore. The air was hot and sticky, stinking of sweat and sex, and the floral quilt was wrinkled, lying in a tangled heap on the floor, and Evelyn was beneath him, naked and trembling, saying,

_Nobody else will know._

Henry's eyes snapped open, bulging in the dark. "What?"

The girl touched his thigh again. Her fingers felt like sandpaper. "I said, just relax. No one's gonna find out."

_Nobody else will know._

She bent down to put her mouth back on him, but Henry caught her and grabbed her hard by the back of her hair, pulling her up off her knees. His blue eyes pierced into hers with a sharp, frightening intensity.

"Why'd you say that?" he asked, his hot breath seething through clenched teeth. "Why'd you say that?"

"I dunno what you're talking about," she said, wincing as he finally released her. Her knees hit the ground with a soft thud, and she hunched forward, panting, her long black hair pouring over her. She cursed him under her breath, then pushed herself up. "God, I was just trying to help you out."

Then her hand lashed out and struck him twice across the face. Henry felt her nail catch a bit of his flesh.

"Touch me again and I'll have you thrown in jail," she warned, raising her hand again to him. Henry collapsed against the tree trunk, face locked in a startled expression. She saw it and started to laugh, her face twisting in an ugly way. "Fuckin' freak. I always knew you were a pussy."

She left after that, boots tearing through the underbrush. Henry pulled his pants back up and fastened the buckle. All the while, his hands wouldn't stop shaking.

6

Back in her bedroom, Liz Mueller held a damp cloth against her bleeding elbow.

"God, did you see the way she looked at me?" she asked Desiree. "It's like I betrayed her."

"I'm sure she was just overwhelmed. You dumped a lot of shit on the poor kid."

Liz winced, from the cut and the guilt. "I dunno what I was thinking, Des. I meant well. I really did. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Get a couple girls together, talk things through, but the whole thing turned into such a damn circus. Now Evelyn hates me, and Sasha's never gonna speak to me again. Everything got so fucked up."

There was a soft knock at the door. Peter Gordon was standing in the doorway with Kyle Kingscott, looking guilty and ashamed.

"Uh, babe," Peter said, "I think we broke your little friend."

Liz sighed, too tired for guessing games. "What are you talking about?"

He sounded drunk. He probably was.

"Your little sophomore friend. The perky one."

"Evelyn, you mean. Wait, what?" She sat up with a start, leaving the bloodied towel on the bed. "She's still here?"

"Well, she's still in the house physically," Kyle took over, nodding his head like he was struggling to follow his own train of thought, "but I don't think she's _here_ anymore, like in a mental-emotional sense, if you catch my drift."

Oh, she caught his drift. "Where is she, Kyle?"

He showed her. Evelyn was in the kitchen, slumped against the wall in the little entryway beside the fridge with her legs sprawled out. When kids came in from the back porch, they had to step over her legs to get into the kitchen. One guy didn't see her there and tripped, then mumbled a quick sorry under his breath.

Liz bent down in front of her. "Evelyn? Are you okay?"

Evelyn looked at her but didn't seem to _see_ her. She just kind of stared past her with this dazed, vacant expression. Her breath reeked of vodka and fruit punch. Liz sniffed it once and glared at the two boys beside her.

"What did you do?" she hissed.

Kyle took a nervous sip from his plastic cup.

"She was upset," Peter said, panic rising in his voice. "We thought it would help. And it did, you know, for a little bit. She was happy and talking again, laughing at all our jokes. Then she started getting all weepy and sad for no reason, and now, well—" He gestured with his hand. "There she is."

As if on cue, Evelyn started to cry again, an ugly sob.

Liz wanted to scream. "You guys got her drunk?"

"It was just a cup! How was I supposed to know the girl was such a lightweight?"

"She's fifteen, you idiot! How much vodka did you guys put in there?"

"Not a lot," Kyle said quietly, smiling sheepishly against the lip of his cup. "Just what was left in your dad's bottle."

"Kyle, that bottle was full."

"Yeah ..."

Peter socked him on the shoulder.

Liz turned back to the girl on the floor. "Oh my god. Evelyn, I'm so, so sorry. This is all my fault, okay? I never should have invited you here, not like this."

"I just wanna go home," Evelyn muttered, sounding tired and miserable.

"Okay," Liz said. "We'll take you home, Evelyn. We'll take you home right now. Just stay here, and I'll go get my keys, okay? Stay right here."

Liz left Evelyn by the fridge and told the boys to watch her while she went to find her keys. When she got back, Kyle and Peter were sharing a bag of chips, and Evelyn was nowhere to be found.

"Where'd she go?" Liz asked.

Peter glanced over at the empty entryway and cursed under his breath. "I swear, she was just here a second ago, Liz."

"Yeah," said Kyle. "I offered her a chip, and she said, 'No, thank you.' I remember because it was so weird and polite, so oddly adorable."

Liz rolled her eyes and pushed through them. "You're both useless."

"Ouch," Kyle muttered, long after she'd already gone. Then he looked at his friend and slapped him on the back. "You're so not getting laid tonight, bro."

7

Belch made a sharp turn off Canal Street. "Where the hell is he?"

They were out looking for Henry, of course. The guy went off into the woods to take a piss and never came back. Belch and Vic waited around for him as long as they could, while the fire slowly died and the group began to peel away, breaking off into smaller clumps of two or three. Patrick went off with Steph and April. Martin was passed out beside the glowing embers. Belch kicked him awake and asked if he'd seen their friend anywhere.

"Bowers? No, I haven't seen him."

"Well, shit," said Belch, rubbing his head under his cap. "He could be anywhere."

Another guy said he saw Henry walking off toward the main road about an hour ago. That's when Belch and Vic decided to hop in the car and go look for him. They drove down Kansas Street and combed through upper and lower Main. A couple of teens parked in Bassey Park claimed they saw him walking down Jackson Street a while ago. Said they offered him a ride, and he blew them off.

"Well, do you know what direction he was heading?" Belch asked the pair of them.

The girl in the passenger seat went quiet for a second, like she was thinking really hard about something. "Um ... south, I think? Maybe southwest?"

The boy laughed at her. "Like you have any sense of direction. He was heading east, pretty sure. Towards Palmer. He looked out of it, man, like totally spacing."

"Great," Belch muttered. "Okay, thanks."

The boy nodded and rolled up his window. Belch did the same, then pulled out of the parking lot and turned back onto Kossmuth Lane. "I think I know where he's going."

Vic thought he did too, as much as he hated to admit it.

From there, the rest of the ride was quiet. At the stop sign, Belch continued south down Witcham for a while, passing the elementary school and the small park where they used to play as kids. Back then, two swings, a merry-go-round, and a wooden jungle gym seemed like a lot. Evelyn fell from the highest tower once and skinned her knee. Vic called her a baby when she started to cry over a little blood. Jimmy said he was just being mean to be mean.

The sign for Summer Street loomed in the distance.

"Keep an eye out," Belch said. "He's around here somewhere."

Vic shifted in his seat, a bitter feeling rising up within him. "Or he's somewhere else. I mean, he could be anywhere, right? Maybe he just got tired and went home for the night."

"No, he's here. Trust me on this."

"Sure," Vic said. "I guess you know him best." He turned his attention back to the road.

A little further ahead, just off the next left onto Summer, a figure appeared in their headlights. Someone was sitting on the side of the road. But it wasn't Henry Bowers, Vic realized as they got closer. "Shit, that's Evelyn. Stop the car, Belch. Stop the car!"

The Trans Am swerved and pulled up along the curb. Vic jumped out before it came to a complete stop and dashed across the road. A sense of dread sat deep in his stomach, eating away at him bit by bit. _Now what the hell is she doing out here? _he wondered, instantly fearing the worst.

She was curled into a little plum-and-gold ball when Vic finally reached her. Her head was tucked between her bare knees to muffle her cries, but Vic could hear them anyway. After ten years, somehow the sound still made him squirm.

He knelt down in front of her, shaking her right knee a little. "Ev? Ev, what's going on?"

"My head hurts," she mumbled. "I needed to sit down."

"Okay. Why does your head hurt, Ev?"

"I drank spiked punch. They offered it to me."

"Who offered it to you?" Vic asked, fear clutching him by the throat. When she didn't answer, he shook her knee again. "Ev, you're not hurt, right? Nobody did anything to you? Or forced you to do anything?"

Evelyn shook her head, finally lifting it off her knees. Vic saw her face and almost busted out laughing. Four long, black, smudgy lines of mascara ran down her eyes like tears and stained her pale cheeks. She looked like a soggy, washed-out circus clown.

"So you're a sad, mopey drunk, huh?" Vic said, trying to make her laugh. He wiped away some of the makeup with his hand, but that only made it worse. "Well, that's no fun. Remind me not to bring you to any parties."

"Shut up," she muttered, sniffing. She tried to smack him, but her hand just sort of flailed out and slapped the air.

"You wanna go home now?" Vic asked.

Evelyn nodded.

"Okay, we'll take you home. Come on."

He got up first and then helped her to her feet, letting her lean on him when she started to feel dizzy. "Just take it nice and slow," he said, guiding her along every step of the way. He had one hand on her hip, doing what he could to keep her stable. The other was tenderly wrapped up in her fingers. She'd grabbed onto it out of nowhere and refused to let go. Vic decided he didn't mind.

"Okay, sweetie, watch your head," he said, pushing her down a little as she climbed clumsily into the backseat. Vic caught a flash of something yellow underneath her denim skirt. Panties, he realized, a nervous flutter setting off in his chest. He had just gotten his first glimpse of a woman's panties, and they were yellow, bright yellow. The realization made him blush and sent his mind racing with unbidden thoughts.

_What other colors does she wear?_ one asked, whispering like a devil on his shoulder.

Vic swatted the thought away and climbed in. Evelyn laid her head down on the seat and closed her eyes.

Belch turned to look at her. "Evelyn, please don't throw up in the car, okay? If you're gonna hurl, let me know, and I'll pull over."

"She's not gonna hurl," Vic said. "Let's just get her home."

Belch started up the car.

They didn't see Henry as they drove down Summer Street. Belch kept an eye out for him, but he didn't see him. Vic said he was looking too, but that was a lie. He was far more concerned about the girl passed out in the back. He stole a glance at her once, as the streetlights passed overhead, and thought she looked peaceful.

"It's cool, you know," Belch said after a while. "You two being friends."

"What?" Vic acted confused. "We're not—"

Belch threw him a sideways glance but kept his attention on the road. "I've seen you two in the hall a couple times. Not like you two hide it very well. Don't worry, I won't tell Henry or anything. It's not really something he needs to know."

But he wouldn't like it. They both knew that.

Vic fell against his backrest. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"That he was seeing her."

Belch went quiet. His eyes flicked up to check the rearview mirror. "It's not what it looks like."

"Oh yeah?" Vic said, brown eyes smoldering. "Then what is it?"

"I dunno, man. I just drop him off sometimes and pick him up when he's done. I dunno what they do in there when they're alone. But it's not _that_. I don't think so anyway." His hands tightened around the wheel and loosened again. "Anyway, it's none of our business. If he's screwing her, he's screwing her. If he's not, he's not. I don't really care, and neither should you."

Vic sighed and knocked his head against the window. In the back, Evelyn was snoring.

"He's calmer when he sees her," Belch said, a deep, thoughtful expression on his face. "I don't know what that all means, but I know I don't want it to stop. Sometimes I think she's the only one keeping him sane."

Vic nodded like he understood, but honestly he didn't. Belch told him to just stay out of it.

"Don't try to get between them. Okay?"

"Okay," said Vic. He remembered those words well. It was the same warning Belch had given Patrick.

Belch pulled into Evelyn's driveway.

It was after midnight when they arrived. Evelyn was still fast asleep in the back, so Belch decided to scoop her up into his arms and carry her the rest of the way. It was one of the few times his stocky build came in handy.

Vic rang the doorbell. Mrs. Tozier answered the door in her bedrobe.

"Victor," she said, "what a pleasant surprise."

"Hi, Mrs. T."

She looked past him. "And what's this? You've even delivered my drunk teenager straight to my doorstep. Wow, how thoughtful of you. Tell me, do you also deliver groceries?"

"She's getting heavy," said Belch, adjusting his grip for the third time. "Heavier than she looks."

"Yeah, she's rock-solid," Mrs. Tozier said, dropping the humorous act right away. "Mind the door when you bring her in."

Vic ducked in first, and Belch followed behind, being careful not to smack Evelyn's head on the doorframe. Mrs. Tozier told him to dump her anywhere, like she was an unwanted package, so Belch laid her gently on the living room couch and then quietly walked back to the front entryway.

Mrs. Tozier watched him come in. "So who are you?" she asked, her eyes narrowing into a scrutinizing glare. "I don't think I've met you before."

Belch took off his hat and fixed his hair. "I'm Reggie, ma'am. Reggie Huggins."

She nodded, committing the name to memory. "Okay, Reggie, tell me something. Did you two get my daughter drunk?"

Belch shook his head. "No, ma'am."

"Because you two don't drink, right? Because you're both still underage?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She smiled. "Very good. Thank you for bringing my daughter home."

That was the signal to leave. Belch went out first, slapping his cap back on once he hit the porch. Vic slipped out next and closed the door behind him.

"Well, we never found Henry," Belch said as he went back to his car. Once more, he looked up and down the street and saw nothing but parked cars and streetlights. "Maybe he really just went home."

Belch had to be getting home, too. It was late, and he wasn't supposed to have the car out anyway. Only to work and to school, his mother said, but how was Belch supposed to refuse Henry when he wanted to go out so badly?

Belch rubbed the back of his neck. "I gotta head back. My mom will be home soon, and I gotta work in the morning."

"Work?" said Vic. "You got a job?"

"Yeah, at the gas station. Just weekends for now, but I'm thinking about asking for more hours. It'd really help my mom out, you know?"

"Yeah," said Vic. "Well, that's cool."

"Yeah." Belch bounced his keys in his hand a couple times, then caught them in midair. "Well, I'll see ya."

"See ya, man."

The car pulled out of the driveway nice and slow, then turned and sped off down the road. Vic stayed back for a while, enjoying the peaceful quiet that followed. Then he stuffed his hands into his pockets and began his walk home.

The moon hovered overhead in the clear night sky, shining a soft light that illuminated the entire street. Vic couldn't help but admire it as he went on his way, kicking a stray pebble he'd found along the way. Once he got bored of it, he gave it a swift kick and sent it soaring over Mrs. Carson's hydrangeas.

A grunt emerged from where it landed. Vic went to see what had made the noise, thinking he might've hit an animal or something. Because that would have been the icing on top of his crummy cake.

He peeked over the shrub and laughed at what he found. Oh, what luck he had! It was an animal all right, an animal called Henry Bowers, passed out in Mrs. Carson's bushes. He even had some of the blue petals in his hair.

"Hey," Vic said, kicking the bottom of his boot. "Hey, Henry, wake up."

Another kick and Henry finally stirred, his eyes fluttering open and closed and then squinting a little. For a moment, they stared at each other, saying nothing. Then Henry broke the silence and asked, "Where the fuck am I?"

"I think they call it rock bottom," Vic said, "and it looks like you've crashed head-first into it, man."

Henry gave him the finger. It was lazy and weak, barely standing upright.

_Wow, he must have really had a rough night_, Vic thought, getting a little worried. Henry threw his head back against the grass and sighed deeply, as if reliving some long-forgotten memory. The expression on his face was pained, tortured, and so very lonely.

Vic offered him his hand. "Come on, man, you can crash at my place."


	13. Chapter 13

1

Evelyn woke up in the living room with a pounding headache and a kink in her neck.

The rest of her family was in the kitchen, sharing a modest breakfast of bacon, toast, and eggs cooked to order (Richie liked his sunny side up over toast, while Mr. Tozier preferred his poached with lots of black pepper). Mrs. Tozier was chained to the stove, frying up another six strips of bacon for her son while her own breakfast sat on the table, getting colder by the minute. The smell of eggs and sizzling meat made Evelyn's stomach churn. She spun around and ran straight for the bathroom.

Mr. Tozier heard the door slam, then flipped to the business section. "And that, son, is exactly why you don't drink."

Richie snickered into his orange juice.

Her parents were far more compassionate than Evelyn expected. When she finally entered the kitchen, she didn't receive any disappointed looks or stern lectures. Instead, she found a glass of water waiting for her at the table, along with two ibuprofen. Evelyn thanked her mother and swallowed the pills in one gulp. Her father offered her a slice of plain white toast to nibble on while her stomach settled. His tender smile made her feel forgiven.

Mrs. Tozier came over with a plate of hot, crispy bacon. "I got a call from Liz Mueller this morning, Evelyn. She apologized profusely for what happened last night and wanted to make sure you got home okay. Nice girl. I told her you'd call her later."

Evelyn nodded and said she would. After all, it was the polite thing to do.

Meanwhile, Richie was helping himself to more bacon. "Hey, Evie," he said, whispering across the table like he had a secret to tell her. Evelyn glanced his way and felt sick all over again. The little jerk was holding a thick slice of bacon by the fatty end, letting all the grease slowly roll down and drip, drip, drip into a yellow-brown puddle on his plate. "You want some?" he asked, giving it a little wiggle.

Evelyn's face paled as she gripped the table's edge. Once again, the bile was rising up from the back of her throat. She fought hard to keep it down.

"Enough, Richie," Mr. Tozier said. "Your sister's not feeling well this morning."

"Because she got wasted." Richie crunched down on the bacon, getting brown bits everywhere. "Man, you're really going for the full high school experience, aren't ya, sis? Next thing you know, she'll be ramming her tongue down some loser's throat in the backseat of his car."

"Shut up, Richie," Evelyn spat, ripping the corner off a piece of toast.

Richie pushed up his glasses. "So what are you gonna name your backseat baby?"

"I said, shut up!"

"That's enough, both of you," Mrs. Tozier said, calling for silence with her hand. "Richie, go upstairs and clean your room before your friends get here."

"I already did."

"To my standard, not yours. I don't wanna go in there and find everything shoved in your closet. If you wanna have company, your room needs to be clean. Those are the rules. Now, get upstairs."

"Fine, fine." Richie downed the rest of his juice and left the table without pushing in his chair. His mother pulled it back in with her foot.

The kitchen got quieter after he left. Mrs. Tozier ate her spinach omelette neatly with a knife and fork, stopping only to take a sip of her coffee or to ask Mr. Tozier about his schedule for the upcoming week. "I've gotta work late on Wednesday," she said, "so you'll have to take care of dinner. Pick up a pizza or something. Whatever you wanna do."

"Pizza sounds good."

Evelyn put down her water glass. "I could always cook," she said, interrupting their pleasant table chatter. Mr. Tozier raised a curious brow and lowered his paper. Mrs. Tozier put down her fork. "Yeah," Evelyn went on earnestly, "I could make spaghetti and meatballs or something. Richie likes that, and it's pretty easy, so ..."

She trailed off, sucking in her lower lip. It was an obvious gesture of remorse: calculated, yes, but also sincere. She hoped her parents would recognize that.

Mr. Tozier smiled. "That'd be great, sweetie. I'll pick up some garlic bread on my way home."

Beside him, Mrs. Tozier was smiling, too, but hers was a knowing smile, tight-lipped and thin. "That's very generous of you, Evelyn. Thank you." She dabbed the corner of her mouth with her napkin. "Now, I suppose we should move on to the subject of your punishment, hmm? That's what you're really waiting for."

Evelyn nodded, already prepared for the worst. "I'm grounded, aren't I?"

"Grounded?" Her mother laughed. "No, honey, you're not grounded."

"There'd be no point," said Mr. Tozier. "You hardly go out as it is."

The two of them shared a chuckle over that while Evelyn rolled her eyes. Then Mrs. Tozier took her coffee mug in both hands and leaned back in apparent contemplation. It was all theater, of course. How they loved to put on a show.

Evelyn begged them to get on with it before her stomach started doing somersaults again.

"So we got a little creative," Mrs. Tozier went on, smirking. "Tomorrow, you'll be cleaning the entire house, floor to ceiling, dusting, sweeping, mopping, vacuuming. You'll scrub all the toilets and wipe all the windows until they shine like new. And you'll do the laundry, too, which is great because I haven't been able to get to it all week. You'll sort it, wash it, dry it, and fold it. Oh, and you'll be taking your brother and his friends to the movie tonight."

"What?" Evelyn whined. "Come on, why do I have to take Richie to the movie? He's old enough to go by himself."

"Mind telling him that?" Mrs. Tozier replied dryly. "The last time I let him go to a movie by himself, I got a call from the theater saying they caught him trying to sneak back in for a second showing. You know your brother, he gets hyper when he has to sit still for too long. I'd take him myself, but I have to work tonight, and your father wants the night to himself, so I guess you chose the wrong time to go boozing, huh?"

Evelyn leaned on her elbow, smushing her cheek with her fist. "I didn't go boozing," she muttered against her knuckles. Still, she saw no point in fighting her parents' decision, annoying as it was. "Okay, I'll do it, but can I invite Hannah?"

"What? No, this is a punishment, Evelyn, not a fun girls' night out."

"Well, I can't sit with Richie, and I don't wanna sit by myself like a weirdo." She shrugged. "What else am I supposed to do? At least with Hannah there, I'll have someone to talk to. It'll make the whole night go more smoothly."

Her mother thought it over while she drank her coffee. "Fine," she said. "Do whatever you want. As long as you go, I don't really care."

"Cool." Maybe it was just the medicine kicking in, but Evelyn was starting to feel a bit like herself again. She hopped out of her chair and left the room. "I'll see if she wants to spend the night, too."

"You do that." Mrs. Tozier went to take another drink, then paused. "Wait, what? I never said she could stay the night. Ev, Ev—Eh, she's already gone."

2

Later that afternoon, Evelyn saw Bill Denbrough walking his bike up the driveway as she was preparing to leave. He had his backpack strapped on and a rolled-up sleeping bag tucked under his arm. Evelyn told him to head on in. Richie was up in his room, reading an old comic he'd found under his bed. "Oh, and my mom's ordering a pizza for dinner tonight. If you want any special toppings or anything, you better speak up now or settle for pepperoni and olives."

"That's fine," he said. Bill was always so easy to please. "Where are you guh-guh-going?"

Evelyn had her red cardigan in hand. She slipped it on and then skipped down the porch. "Just for a little stroll around the block. I could use some fresh air." It was nice out today, warmer than it had been in a while. Sixty-five according to the weatherman, but in the sun, it felt like a perfect seventy, with a cool, refreshing breeze to blow all your troubles away. It was just what Evelyn needed. "Anyway, I'll see ya later, Bill."

"Buh-Bye, Evelyn."

She turned onto the sidewalk and started walking.

Today, it seemed like everyone was out enjoying the good weather. Evelyn's next-door neighbors, the Potters, were jogging with their chocolate lab, Bruno. Mr. Tinsley was underneath his piece-of-junk car, cursing up a storm over not having the right wrench, while his twin sons tossed a baseball around. A couple houses down, the Muntzes were drinking lemonade and playing croquet in their front yard. Mrs. Muntz asked if Evelyn was free to babysit tonight, but Evelyn said she had other plans.

"Oh," said Mrs. Muntz, a little disappointed. "Another time, then."

"Sure, just give me a call. Oh, hello, Mrs. Carson."

The old woman was out tending her garden, like she did every day. Mrs. Carson was often snippy with strangers, and she hated kids, but Evelyn could usually squeeze a couple minutes of pleasant conversation out of her, as long as she stayed on the topic of flowers, of course, and led off with a compliment.

"Your hydrangeas bloomed nicely this year," she said. "The color's so pretty."

Mrs. Carson came towards her, shaking a fistful of uprooted weeds. "Someone's trampled my shrubs."

"Oh? They look all right to me."

"The hell they do. Just look at 'em!" She shook her fist again, dirt flying everywhere. "They're all smushed and misshapen. It's like a damn tragedy, that's what this is. And when I catch the little prick that did this, I'm gonna take my shears and stick 'em where the sun don't shine, that's what I'm gonna do. Those damn kids are always messin' with my flowers."

"Well, I'm very sorry to hear that," Evelyn said. "You have lovely flowers."

"I appreciate you sayin' that." She focused her gaze then, bright blue eyes staring out from underneath her wide-brimmed hat, and smacked her lips together. "You all right, dear? You look tired."

"I was up late last night."

"Ahh, out on the town, huh? You best be careful with that. Catches up to you real quick."

Evelyn nodded. "I will. Bye, Mrs. Carson."

The old woman resumed her weed-pulling, and Evelyn continued on her way, passing the hand-painted tin mailbox that bore the Criss family name in crisp white letters.

Much to her surprise, Victor was out in the driveway, washing his father's car with a bucket of soapy water and a sponge that never seemed to stay wet enough. He bent down to dunk it again, then cursed under his breath. His father yelled something from inside the house. Vic hollered over his shoulder, "All right, all right, I heard you the first time! Fuckin' A." He pulled the sponge back out and started cleaning the wheel rims.

Evelyn leaned over the hood to watch him. "This part of your punishment?"

Her voice made him jump, but he recovered quickly, flashing a metal grin in her direction. "What's up, party animal?" He sloshed the sponge around in the water for a minute and then pushed himself to his feet. "So were you sick this morning?"

"Yeah, a little," Evelyn answered, blushing. "I threw up."

Vic held in a laugh. "Yeah, kinda figured you would. Man, you were a wreck last night. You probably don't even remember."

He started scrubbing the hood of the car with a steady motion, making little circles with his hand. Evelyn found it relaxing to watch. With each pass, the soap suds spread further and further across the car's black exterior, bubbles shining like tiny rainbows in the sunlight. Evelyn popped one with the tip of her finger.

"I remember some of it," she said. Most of the details got washed away by the long night's rest, but the raw emotions lingered, powerful as they had ever been. "Mostly I just remember this strange, overwhelming sadness that came out of nowhere and made me feel so _heavy_. It was like I was drowning, Vic, and the scary thing is, I don't even know why I was so upset."

Vic frowned, arm outstretched over the hood. "Well, alcohol does funny things sometimes."

"Did that happen to you?"

He put down the sponge and thought about it for a minute. "No, nothing quite like that, but you know what, I had a panic attack the first time I got high. Don't laugh, I'm serious. It was a full-blown freakout. All my anxieties just sorta hit me at once, and I felt like I was spiraling outta control, and I spent the whole night huddled in the corner, too afraid to sleep because I thought I wouldn't wake up again."

Evelyn clutched her chest. "God, that sounds terrifying."

"Yeah, it was pretty bad, but I survived and so will you. Just stay away from the booze for a while, okay? You really freaked me out last night."

"I did? Why?"

He bonked her on the head. "Why do you think, dummy? Seeing you sitting there on the curb, crying your eyes out like that. I thought something bad happened to you, like somebody hurt you or something." He picked the sponge back up, squeezing it harder than necessary. "Look, I know you're not stupid, Evelyn. You know what could've happened if some other guy found you."

Someone like Martin Davers. The thought passed through them both at the same time, but it hit Vic the hardest, like a fist to the stomach. Suddenly, he felt guilty for ignoring all those girls that Martin had lured into his pickup after a night of heavy drinking. If Evelyn ever found out about that, she would never smile at him again.

"I'm sorry, Vic," Evelyn said, her voice full of remorse. "I should have been more careful."

Vic went back to work. "Let's just forget about it, okay?"

"Okay," Evelyn said, going quiet again. She shifted awkwardly in her stance, throwing her weight from one leg to the other and then back again. "So, uh, what were you guys doing out so late, anyway?"

"Huh? Oh, nothing, Belch was just giving me a ride home."

The lie came out effortlessly, almost like a reflex. Evelyn accepted it without question, believing the whole thing to be some kind of fateful coincidence. Perfect timing, she'd called it. She sounded so grateful. It was better that way, Vic decided. Evelyn didn't need to know the truth: that Henry Bowers had gotten drunk and depressed and went looking for her; and if she had arrived just a few hours earlier, she would have seen him coming out of Vic's house this morning.

Vic turned on the garden hose and started rinsing off the car. "So, any fun plans tonight?"

Evelyn let out an exaggerated moan. "Yeah, I'm babysitting."

3

They arrived at the Aladdin twenty minutes before the movie was supposed to start. Mr. Tozier dropped the kids off in his wife's minivan and told them he'd be back to pick them up at nine o'clock sharp: "That's nine o'clock on the dot, okay? You all better be out front and ready to go when I arrive. Otherwise, you can walk home."

"Yeah, okay, Dad!" Richie flung open the front passenger door and jumped out, making a break for the box-office window. "Come on, guys, we gotta get in line!"

Bill Denbrough and Stan Uris were sitting in the third row because, as Mr. Tozier reminded them, it would have been ungentlemanly to make the ladies sit all the way in the back. They didn't mind, though, not after Hannah-Beth Stokes smiled at them like she did. It was this shy, girlish smile that made their chests throb with a sweet, sweet ache. They spent the whole car ride staring at the back of her head, wondering what kind of shampoo she used to make it look so soft and shiny.

Bill reached over Evelyn and pulled open the sliding door. "Guh-Go ahead."

Evelyn swooned, glancing back at her smiling friend. "Aww, you two are so sweet. You're gonna drive the girls nuts when you're older."

_When you're older. _Such deflating words for a twelve-year-old.

Outside, Richie was pushing and squeezing his way through the crowd, trying to find where the ticket line began and ended. "Jeez, it's like everyone and their grandma's here tonight." He shoved past a middle-aged couple, muttering an apology under his breath, and pressed his face against the bank of windows leading into the lobby. Everybody was gathered around the concession stand, forking up cash and coin for bags of candy, sugary soft drinks, and huge buckets of warm, buttery popcorn. Richie could hardly wait to get inside. Even the arcade was packed, game lights flashing and sound effects roaring; sirens wailed and bells rang: "Winner! Winner! We have a winner!" Grant Elmhirst was hogging _Street Fighter_ again, mashing the buttons and working the joystick with godlike precision and speed. Richie cupped his hands over his mouth and yelled, "Get a life, Elmhirst!"

"Richie!" his sister called from her spot in line. "Come on, let's go!"

Richie ran to join them.

Evelyn examined the marquee overhead. They were showing three pictures tonight: _Vampire's Kiss, Cocoon: The Return, _and _The Blob. _"Which one are we seeing?" she asked her brother, because none of the titles sounded even slightly appealing to her.

"_The Blob_, duh! I've been waiting all year for this movie to come out."

Evelyn looked at the sign again. "Richie, that movie's rated R."

"Yeah, so?"

"So you're just a bunch of kids. They won't let you in without an adult."

"Sure they will. They let anybody in here."

Behind him, Stan and Bill were nodding their heads, completely unfazed. Clearly they had done this before, but that didn't mean Evelyn had to like it.

She crossed her arms over her chest. "Does Mom know you're seeing this movie? She doesn't, does she? Because there's no way she'd let you see an R-rated movie by yourself. For God's sake, Richie, it could have sex and nudity in it or something."

"Who cares?" Richie groaned, glasses sliding down his nose. He pushed them back up angrily. "Gosh, fuckin' killjoy over here. Besides, you're worrying over nothing. Everybody at school's already seen it. There's no sex or anything, just some good ol' fashioned blood and gore." He looked past her and raised one hand to wave. "Eddie! Eddie, over here!"

Eddie Kaspbrak came around the corner, wearing a jacket because his mother said he had to. (_Otherwise you'll catch a cold, Eddie_.) None of his friends were wearing their jackets, though, and that made Eddie self-conscious. He considered taking it off and tying it around his waist, but that was something only girls did; and around the shoulders was no good either because then he'd look like one of those preppy guys that feathered their hair and hung out at the mall all day. Eddie didn't want to seem like one of _those_ guys, so he just left it on.

"A bit nippy, innit?" Richie teased in his British voice. He tried to mess up his hair, but Eddie pushed him away. "You missed a good pizza tonight, Eds. Extra cheesy, just the way you like it. I was gonna smuggle you a slice, but my dad ate the last one."

Eddie frowned. It wasn't fair. His mom made him stay home and eat lasagna.

"Next time, though," Evelyn said, smiling. "I'm sure things will blow over soon."

"I dunno," said Eddie. "My mom's still pretty mad."

"Well, she can't stay mad forever."

Richie laughed. "You clearly don't know his mom."

The line lurched forward at a snail's pace, but they eventually reached the window. Seth McFadden was taking tickets tonight, looking bored in his red vest and black slacks. Richie dug into his pocket to grab his cash (the ten crisp dollar bills he'd earned for mowing his parents' lawn), but Evelyn put a hand on his shoulder and told him not to worry about it.

"Huh?" he said, staring up at her. "But I got money."

"Keep it," she said, smiling. "I've got you guys covered this time. All right, Seth, it'll be, uh—one, two, three—six for _The Blob,_ please."

"21.72."

Evelyn reached into her crossbody purse and pulled out the brown faux-leather wallet that her parents had bought her two Christmases ago. She counted out the bills like a pro: "Ten, fifteen, twenty, -one, and -two. So, how long you been working here, Seth?"

Richie stared up at his big sister and felt his face get hot. In all his life, Evelyn had never looked so cool. If his buddies weren't around, he would have hugged her like a little kid, but instead he stammered, "I'll, uh, I can buy your snacks, if, if you want."

"Sure, that'd be nice, Rich. Thanks. Umm, I'll have a diet soda and a large popcorn, no butter."

Richie nodded, then raced through the double-doors. "Extra butter, heard!"

4

The theater was nearly three-quarters full when they walked in, snacks and drinks in hand. Richie and his friends rushed ahead to claim the last few seats in the second row, while Evelyn and Hannah-Beth stayed behind to search for seats a little further away from the screen.

Eddie turned back. "Wait, you're not sitting with us?"

Bill and Stan had stopped too. They seemed surprised and slightly disappointed. Richie was already in his seat, shoveling popcorn into his mouth by the handful.

"Do you need me to sit with you?" Evelyn asked, amused. She made a shooing motion with her soda-carrying hand. "Go, enjoy your movie. We'll sit back here and leave you guys alone."

Eddie shrugged and carried on. The other two sluggishly followed.

About six rows back, Evelyn and Hannah-Beth settled into their seats and got comfortable. The whole theater was buzzing with excited chatter as everyone waited for the lights to dim. There were a lot of high school students in the audience tonight. Most were sitting in pairs or in small groups. Some were even on dates, which made Evelyn sigh with envy. It looked like fun.

Hannah-Beth slurped her drink. "This sounds really sad, but I always kinda hoped my first date would go something like this. I'd get all dressed up, and he'd pay for my ticket, and we'd sit shoulder to shoulder just like this and share a big bag of popcorn."

Evelyn offered her the bucket. "So does that make this our first date?"

Hannah-Beth blushed, then snatched a couple kernels and popped them into her mouth. "I guess so."

Evelyn sighed again. "You're right, that does sound sad."

Hannah-Beth stole a few more kernels. "So was Liz's party really no good? You've hardly said a word about it all night. It wasn't fun at all?"

"No, it really wasn't."

"Really?" She sounded doubtful. "Well, what happened?"

"Nothing. Liz just wanted to warn me about something, I guess."

Hannah-Beth scrunched up her nose. "Warn you about what?"

There was a howl of laughter somewhere behind them. Evelyn looked over her shoulder and saw Patrick Hockstetter sitting in the back row with his boots up on the seats. Steph Price was beside him, eating small, dainty handfuls of popcorn. She flicked a piece at his face (for what, Evelyn couldn't tell), and Patrick started laughing again.

A man in Evelyn's row shouted, "Pipe down back there!" and she whipped around when Patrick glanced in her direction.

_He didn't see me. Please, God, tell me he didn't see me. _She sank into the cushion and checked her watch. It was 6:54. Six more minutes, just six more minutes before the theater went totally dark. She could make it until then. Patrick hadn't seen her. Evelyn started counting down the minutes on her watch.

Hannah-Beth asked what was wrong.

"Nothing," Evelyn said, her eyes glued to her watch. The big hand kept going _tick, tick, tick. _

Then a hand fell on her backrest, making her yelp.

"Well, well, well, fancy meeting you here," said Patrick, a smile in his voice. "I didn't know you liked movies."

Evelyn took a nervous sip of her drink. "Well, doesn't everybody?"

He was standing in the row behind her, taking up what little walking space there was. A young couple tried to get past him, but Patrick refused to move, so they had to turn around and go the other way. Patrick didn't care. He squatted down to Evelyn's level and propped his elbow on the seat next to her.

"So," he asked, "how was your night?"

Evelyn kept her answer short. "Could've been better. Yours?"

"Could've been better," Patrick echoed flirtatiously, purring the words into her ear. He laid his chin on his wrist and gazed at Evelyn's unmoving profile. "So, are you gonna tell me what you were doing last night? Or should I just ask your cute little friend here?"

Hannah-Beth twitched at that but stayed silent, squirming with discomfort. Evelyn got angry. She didn't want to see her best friend dragged into this.

"You should go back to your seat, Patrick," she said. "Steph's probably annoyed you left."

"Oh? You jealous?"

His accusation made Evelyn turn to face him, and oh, how his eyes lit up when she did; they sparked up like two bolts of lightning.

"I'm not jealous," she said. "I just think it's rude for you to come here with a girl and then ignore her. I'll bet Steph's feelings are really hurt right now."

Patrick cackled. "What the fuck do I care about Steph's feelings? Not like this is a date or anything. She asked if I wanted to go to a movie, and I said sure. Plain and simple. If I decide to ditch her, then she's just gonna have to deal with it." He stopped. To his left, a middle-aged woman was clearing her throat, urging him to move. Patrick glanced at her once and went on talking. "If I'd known you were free tonight, I would've blown her off anyway, so I don't see the issue here."

The woman answered before Evelyn could. "The issue is you're blocking the aisle, asshole. Move before I get the manager involved."

Patrick stared her down. "We're just having a conversation, lady. You can wait a few more minutes."

"Just go, Patrick," Evelyn pleaded. "Please, you're making a scene."

Patrick turned back to her, pale eyes narrowing into a cold, unfeeling glare. His expression disappeared when the lights faded to black, then came back into view, now framed by the eerie green glow of the preview introduction screen. Evelyn drew back, suddenly afraid. Excited cheers rose up around them. In the second row, Richie Tozier was pumping his fists in the air, shouting, "Yeah, let's go!"

_Please, _Evelyn begged_. Please, just go! _

Finally, Patrick let out a frustrated huff and slunk back to his seat in the back row. The woman sat down, too, and the first trailer began to play. Evelyn put her hand to her chest. Her heart was beating so fast.

5

The movie seemed a lot less frightening after that. The so-called "Blob" was as disgusting as Evelyn expected, oozing its way through town and killing its unsuspecting victims in a slow, suffocating, and often bone-crushing fashion. In one particularly disturbing scene, the Blob pulled a man through a sink drain. Hannah-Beth grimaced as soon as blood started flying. Evelyn was more bothered by the sickening _crunch _of his bones breaking one by one. Oddly enough, Patrick Hockstetter was cracking up during that scene. His laughter sprang up out of nowhere, cutting through the distressed silence.

Evelyn pushed the bucket of popcorn onto Hannah-Beth. "I have to go to the bathroom."

"Okay. Want me to go with you?"

"No, it's okay. I'll be back in a bit."

In truth, Evelyn couldn't get out of there fast enough. She side-shuffled her way through the narrow walkway and escaped down the aisle, pushing the heavy door with both hands.

The silence of the lobby was a welcome change. A theater worker went by with a carpet-sweeper, smiling at Evelyn as he passed. He asked if she was enjoying the movie. Evelyn said she was, but she needed a break from the noise. Back inside, the audience was screaming as the Blob claimed another victim.

Evelyn cringed. _Yeah, I think I'll just take my time out here._

She walked into the bathroom and found an empty small. Outside, an employee was humming while she wiped down the counters and changed out the trash bins. Plastic rustled in her hand as she flapped open a new bag: w_hoosh, whoosh, whoosh_! Toilets flushed one after another. Two teenagers came out and chatted as they washed up. Whispers. Giggles. _Whoosh, woosh, woosh_! They left their crumpled-up paper towels on the counter, making the worker sigh noisily through her nose. She tossed the paper in the bin before walking out.

There was a moment of silence after that (the score to _Cocoon_ came pouring in through the shared wall), then the door opened and closed quietly. Evelyn didn't think anything of it. She came out of the stall and started washing her hands, letting the warm water run for a while. It wasn't until she reached for the paper towels that she noticed Patrick Hockstetter standing against the wall.

A gasp escaped her mouth, threatening to become a scream. Evelyn reeled backwards and slammed into the counter. "Jesus, Patrick, what the hell are you doing here?"

He tipped his head curiously. "Are you mad at me or something?"

"What?" she blurted out. "No, of course not."

"Then why are you acting so weird?"

"I'm not acting weird."

"Oh, really?" he challenged, peeling himself off the wall. "Then how come you don't wanna talk to me all of a sudden? We used to have some pretty fun chats, didn't we? Now I can hardly get a word out of you. Why's that?"

Evelyn's eyes went to the door, then back to Patrick. It was too far away, she realized. Even if she got a jump on him and ran as fast she could, she'd never make it in time. Patrick had those long, long legs. It would take him three steps at most to catch her.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Patrick."

Her breath hitched in her throat. He was moving now with those long legs, moving towards the door. His hand went to the deadbolt and gave it a slow, agonizing twist.

"Why'd you lock the door, Patrick?"

"So you don't try to leave."

A chill ran down Evelyn's spine, but she shook it away. "Why would I try to leave? We're talking, right? That's what you wanted. Let's talk."

His smile was relaxed, but a restlessness stirred in his eyes as he approached her. "I wanna know what Liz told you. That's where you were last night, right? A little birdie told me that Liz gathered up some girls to try and badmouth me. I'm curious about what she said."

"It's none of my business," Evelyn said. "That's between you and her."

"Well, now it's between me and you, because whatever Liz said clearly spooked you. Otherwise, you wouldn't be looking at me like you are right now."

"How am I looking at you, Patrick?"

"Like you're scared of me."

He sounded sullen and disappointed. It threw Evelyn off her guard. One more step and Patrick had her pinned against the counter, hands on either side of her hips, close but not touching. He had been careful of that. Evelyn gazed up at his face and felt her heart clench painfully. The look in his eyes was desperate and intense.

"Why are you scared of me, Evelyn?" he asked, his dark hair falling down around them. "Because I've been good to you, right? I got those shirts back and bought you that postcard you like so much."

Evelyn nodded weakly. "I like it a lot."

A smirk crept up his face. "Is it on your wall right now?"

"No," she said, her voice trembling, "it's in a frame on my nightstand. I like looking at it sometimes."

Her answer drew him closer, his lips hovering over hers as they shared a breath. "See, that's what I like about you, Evelyn. You're so genuine. I don't think you could lie to me even if you wanted to. And that's a good thing because I don't wanna lie to you, either. That's why I'm gonna be completely honest with you right now. Okay? So listen real carefully. Whatever Liz told you, it's probably true. I'm an obsessive person, and I go after what I want. Right now, I've decided I want you, and nothing—I mean _nothing_—is gonna get in my way. Not Bowers or Criss or even that bitch Liz Mueller." He hissed the name like it was a curse, then chuckled, low and deep in his chest. "I like you, Ev, and I think you're starting to like me, too. Am I right?"

His breath on her face was making her dizzy and light-headed. Evelyn attempted to say his name, to tell him that he was wrong, but the words came out as a long, whispery moan that sounded more like a cry of affirmation.

In response, his palms pushed hard into the countertop, fingers flexing with frustration. "I said I wouldn't touch you, and so far I've kept my word, but right now I really, really wanna touch you. Can I touch you, Evelyn?"

He didn't wait. His mouth came down as soon as she found her voice again.

"No," she said, turning her head to the side. His lips grazed her cheek and drew back with a snarl. Evelyn closed her eyes and sucked in a deep breath. "I think we should keep our distance from now on, Patrick."

He hissed through his teeth.

"I thought we already agreed to keep our distance," he said, trying to recapture her attention with his eyes. When that didn't work, he took her chin and tilted it upwards, forcing his heavy gaze onto hers. "You really wanna do this?"

It was a genuine question, not a threat.

Evelyn nodded. "I'm sorry, Patrick."

He snorted briefly, not quite a laugh. "Liz must've really scared you off, huh?"

"No, she didn't." It would have been easier if she had; then Evelyn wouldn't feel so bad. "Like I said, that's your business, Patrick. It has nothing to do with me."

He seemed confused. "Then, why?"

"I already told you, Patrick. I don't have time for dating. I told you that before, and I meant it, okay? I've got a lot going on right now, and the last thing I need is a distraction."

His eyes darkened. "A distraction, huh?" The word sounded so harsh when he said it. "That's how you see me?"

"Yes, Patrick." She saw no point in lying to him. "I'm really sorry."

His hand lingered under her chin for a moment longer, cupping it a way that almost seemed loving and tender, even though Evelyn knew it never could be. Patrick Hockstetter wasn't capable of genuine affection. He was just really good at faking it.

Evelyn left the bathroom and returned to her seat in the theater.

Hannah-Beth handed her the popcorn. "Everything all right? You were gone an awfully long time."

"Mhm," Evelyn answered. "Everything's fine now."

Back on the screen, the Blob was rampaging down the street and devouring everyone in its path

Evelyn stuffed some popcorn into her mouth. "This movie kinda sucks."


	14. Chapter 14

1

It hadn't been easy to turn down Patrick Hockstetter. Evelyn thought it would be, but it wasn't.

As Hannah-Beth read herself to sleep that night (the _Dawn of Love_ series was her latest obsession; she couldn't stop talking about it), Evelyn lay awake for hours, staring at the framed postcard on her nightstand. She considered throwing it away. It seemed the right thing to do, given the circumstances. She didn't like Patrick, not even in a platonic way, but she cherished the postcard like it was a treasure. Was that wrong? No boy had ever given her a gift before, not a meaningful one anyway. Victor Criss used to give her presents on her birthday, she supposed, but those had been picked out by his mother. A doll one year, a set of candy-scented body sprays another. They were nice gifts, sure, but they said little about Evelyn or their friendship. Vic hadn't even bothered to wrap them.

But this postcard was different. It was considerate and personal; in a way, it felt intimate. Regardless of his intentions, which were undeniably self-serving, Patrick had seen something and thought of her, remembering a small detail about her life that she'd only shared once, and that one thought was so powerful he had to act on it. Maybe Evelyn was just being overly sentimental, but to her that felt kind of special.

She rolled onto her back._ Maybe I was too hard on him. _

"What's the matter?" asked Hannah-Beth. "Can't sleep?"

"Yeah."

"Is it because of the movie?"

"No. It wasn't even that scary."

"Oh ... Then what is it?"

"Nothing. Mind if I turn off the light now?"

"No, go ahead. I'm done."

Hannah-Beth set her book aside while Evelyn turned off the lamp and drew up the floral quilt so it went to their shoulders. Hannah-Beth snuggled in a little deeper, getting cozy and warm. Evelyn kept tossing and turning. Down the hall, the boys were listening to Bill Denbrough's latest adventure tale. Evelyn could hear their muffled voices through the wall.

Hannah-Beth turned onto her side. "Is it about Patrick?" she asked. "Because that was really weird, him coming up to you like that."

"Yeah, it was ... Would you believe he asked me out?"

"You're kidding ... Well, what did you say?"

"No, obviously."

"Oh."

"Why do you sound so disappointed?"

"I'm not, I'm not. It's just ... Well, aren't you a little bit curious?"

"About what?"

"About Patrick."

"I don't know ... a little, I guess." Evelyn rolled away from her.

"He's pretty good looking."

"Yeah."

"You've really never thought about it?"

"I already told you I have."

"Oh." Hannah-Beth started swishing her feet back and forth under the covers. "You know, he'd probably take your virginity. Ever thought about that?"

"No," Evelyn said, but that was a lie. She had thought about it a couple times—two, maybe three times max—late at night during those final moments of awakeness. There, in that dark, hazy place between awake and asleep, the thought came to her, quiet as a whisper, and made her body tingle in places it never had before.

But those were tired thoughts, Evelyn decided. Like dreams, they didn't mean anything.

"Well, he would," Hannah-Beth said just in case Evelyn didn't believe her. "You know Miranda Flett?"

"Yeah, she's in my biology class."

"Well, I have English with her, and she said she let Patrick take her virginity a few weeks ago while her parents were at church. At church, of all places! Miranda said she came so hard her toes curled."

"Her toes curled?" Evelyn curled her own toes, just to see what it felt like, and it hurt a little. "But, wait, I thought Miranda was dating Colin Creswell. You'd think they were madly in love from the way she's always going on about him."

"She is, but I guess she got tired of waiting."

Evelyn looked over her shoulder. "What does that mean?"

"I dunno. She said it wasn't working. They kept trying and trying, and he just couldn't get it up."

"Well, maybe he wasn't ready."

"You really think so? I thought guys were always ready for that sorta thing. I mean, that's what everybody says, don't they? ... Anyway, Miranda thinks he might be gay. She says she's gonna give it one more shot, and if he still can't get it up, she's gonna break up with him."

"That's a cruel thing to do. He's probably just nervous, and Miranda's only making it worse by threatening him like that. She needs to be patient and understanding. Sex can be really intimidating, even for guys."

"Hmm ... Yeah, I suppose you're right."

Evelyn moved onto her back and sat up on her elbows. "Why was Miranda telling you all that, anyway? That's their private business. She had no right to go blabbing about it to you."

"I dunno ... She just started talking about it in class."

"Well, she shouldn't have," Evelyn said, and she lay back down.

Hannah-Beth went quiet but only for a minute. "So have you thought about it?"

"Thought about what?"

"Losing your virginity."

"Well, yeah ... Who hasn't?"

"Yeah ... So you do you want it to be?"

"What do you mean?"

"Like, when you're thinking about it, who do you see yourself doing it with? ... Mine's Kenneth Klein."

"From the football team?"

"Yeah ... He's got a real nice butt. Plus I heard he's hung like a horse."

A moment of silence passed between them before Evelyn busted into a fit of giggles. She laughed until her sides hurt and tears were streaming down her face. "Oh, Hannah," Evelyn said, letting out a few more easy chuckles. "Wow, you're such a perv."

Hannah-Beth gave her a half-hearted kick, and Evelyn thought she might start up all over again.

"So?" Hannah-Beth asked. "Who's yours?"

Evelyn's throat got really tight. "I dunno."

She thought she knew, but now she wasn't so sure.

"Don't lie ... I told you mine, didn't I?"

"Yeah."

"So ... Who is it?"

Evelyn didn't know what to say. "Just, uh, someone I kinda love, I guess."

Hannah-Beth sighed wistfully. "Yeah, that'd be nice."

"Mhm." Evelyn pulled the floral quilt up to her chin and rolled back onto her side.

"Hey, are you okay?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"I dunno, you just sound funny."

"I'm just tired."

"Oh ... Well, good night, then."

"Good night, Hannah."

2

On Monday, Evelyn failed her psychology quiz.

It shouldn't have happened. Evelyn studied for it the night before and glossed over the questions before she began. It seemed straight forward enough. No unexpected curveballs or trick questions to send you into a nervous tail-spin. It was just one page, a mixture of multiple-choice and fill-in-the-blank questions. _Easy peasy_, Evelyn thought, but somehow everything fell apart once she put the date in the top-right corner.

09/19/1988

The school board was holding Henry's expulsion hearing five days from today. Evelyn wasn't supposed to know that, but Mr. Burke let it slip while they were talking during the period change. Now, Evelyn couldn't get it out of her head.

Five days. It felt so sudden.

_But it was never supposed to come to this_, she thought as she filled in the little answer bubbles with her pencil: B, C, A, B, C. _I said I was gonna take care of it—I should have been able to take care of it—and I couldn't even deliver on that. Now the date is set, and there's nothing I can do to stop it. Nothing! (_She accidentally wrote "Nothing" in one of the blanks and had to go back and erase it.)_ I fucked up. I didn't do enough. I didn't focus enough. I let myself get distracted by Patrick and his bullshit, and Liz Mueller's stupid party. I don't even like parties, so why did I go? I could have been writing a letter to the superintendent during that time. Why didn't I do that? It might've helped. It might've... _

"And that's time, class," said Mrs. Fletcher. "Pass your quizzes to the front, please."

The whole class seemed to sigh together. Pass or fail, at least it was over. Evelyn took the stack of papers from Molly Whittle and placed her quiz on top of the pile. In front of her, Nathan Weller was scrambling to answer the last two questions. She patiently waited for him to finish.

"So how'd you do?" Molly asked her neighbor.

"Pretty good, I think. What about you?"

"Okay, I hope. That last essay was a real killer, though."

"Ugh, tell me about it. I basically bullshitted my way through the whole thing."

Evelyn yanked the stack away just as Nathan Weller went to grab it. _Essay_? she thought, a lump forming in her throat. _There was an essay? Where? I didn't see an essay. I checked the whole thing over before I started, and there was no essay. _

Nathan made a face at her."What the hell are you doing, Tozier?"

Again, Evelyn pulled the pile out of his reach. "Just wait," she said, and she took her quiz and looked it over once more, just to be sure. It was the same twenty questions she'd seen before. Ten bubbles, ten blank lines, all filled perfectly with the correct answers.

Where was the essay?

"All quizzes to the front, please," said Mrs. Fletcher. "All quizzes to the front."

"Just wait!" Evelyn hissed over all the noise, and she checked the paper again.

This time she saw it: the little note at the bottom of the page, written in the smallest font ever created. Evelyn must have read it a dozen times before Nathan Weller tore the paper out of her hands and sent it forward.

_The quiz continues on the back.  
__The quiz continues on the back.  
__The quiz continues on the back._

Evelyn collapsed against her backrest, feeling disoriented and confused. "I didn't check the back?"

Her friends couldn't believe it, either.

"Wait, you didn't check the back?" Paul said while pressing down on his hamburger bun until the ground beef came pouring out the sides. Paul liked his sloppy joes extra sloppy: overflowing with meat and smushed together with coleslaw and dill pickle slices. It barely fit in his hands. "Damn, Evelyn, that's like test-taking 101. You always check the back before you start, always. What the hell happened?"

Evelyn cut her sandwich in half with a butter knife. "I don't know," she said, bringing one half to her mouth. "I wasn't thinking."

"Obviously." Paul took a bite of his sandwich and made a mess all over his face. Evelyn tossed him a second napkin, and he muttered thanks before wiping his mouth. "You know that essay was worth half your total score, right?"

"I'm aware."

"Well, did you tell Mrs. Fletcher what happened? I bet if you told her, she'd let you finish the quiz after school or something."

"Yeah." That's exactly what happened. Mrs. Fletcher caught Evelyn after class and offered her an extra ten minutes to finish the essay. Evelyn said no. She didn't think it would be fair to the other students.

"Man," said Paul, "this is like last semester all over again."

Evelyn let out a tired moan. "Oh, stop it, Paul. This is nothing like that."

"Really? Because it seems awfully familiar."

Hannah-Beth put down her turkey sandwich and timidly asked, "What happened last semester?"

"Nothing," Evelyn said. "Paul's just exaggerating things."

"Exaggerating?" He almost choked on his food. "Ev, you freaked out during the English final because you thought you brought the wrong notebook. You didn't even need your notebook! Everyone thought you were having a nervous breakdown or something. The teacher had to send you to the nurse's office to lie down."

Hannah-Beth's jaw dropped. "You went to the nurse's office?"

"Only for like thirty minutes." Paul made it seem like she went into a year-long coma. "I was perfectly fine after that. No lasting damage. And I ended up acing that final, too, so I don't know why Paul's making such a fuss over nothing. Honestly, Hannah, it wasn't a big deal. I just got a little stressed out, that's all. There was a lot going on at the time."

And Evelyn refused to go back there, not even for a second. She couldn't keep torturing herself forever.

"Anyway," she said, smiling brightly, "let's move on to some to some good news, shall we? Our posters were a huge hit with the entire student body. Did you guys see? It was great! For once, they were actually smiling and laughing and, well, completely ignoring our core message, but that's okay. Small victory, right? At least now we have their attention. Of course, that means our next poster is gonna have to be ten times better, so we'll need to start brainstorming new ideas asap."

"Or we can just quit while we're ahead," Paul said while Lenny nodded along. "Personally, I don't mind being a one-hit wonder."

Evelyn rolled her eyes. "Nobody likes a slacker, Paul. Come on, your last idea was great! I'm sure you've got tons more hiding in that brain of yours. We just need to find the right key to unlock it. Like, what about superheroes? We could do a superhero-themed one. Or something Halloween-themed for the season. Oh, I like that idea. Hannah, get your notebook; I think I'm onto something here. We can do something really fun and spooky."

"Like ghosts and witches?" Hannah said excitedly.

"Exactly! And monsters too, like a werewolf and a mummy, and we could say, 'Only Real Monsters Bully' or something like that. I dunno, we'll work out the slogan later." Feeling inspired, Evelyn tossed around a few more ideas while Hannah-Beth wrote feverishly with her pen. "Yeah, I like that one! For the ghost, we could do something simple and cute like, 'Boo! Don't Bully!'"

Hannah-Beth squealed. "I love it!"

"And—What? What, Paul?"

Paul was nudging Evelyn's foot under the table. When she looked at him, he gave his eyebrows a suggestive wiggle and said, "Your dorky boyfriend's coming this way."

Evelyn scowled. _He's not my boyfriend_, she wanted to say, but she realized it didn't matter. Jake Newham was approaching now from the other side of the cafeteria. He was dressed more formally today, in grey slacks and a green cable-knit sweater that was left partially unzipped to reveal the white collared shirt underneath. Lenny said he looked like Mister Rogers in that sweater, but personally Evelyn didn't see the resemblance. She thought he looked very handsome and presidential, especially when he smiled.

"Hey, Jake," Evelyn said warmly. "You look very nice today."

"Thanks," Jake replied, flashing a bashful smile that made Evelyn sigh. "We're doing debates in my public speaking class today."

"Oh, that sounds like fun. I'd love to do something like that."

"Yeah? You wanna go toe-to-toe with me sometime, Tozier? Gotta warn you, though, I'm pretty persuasive."

"Are you now?" Evelyn challenged, her lips curling into a smirk. "Well, I think I can hold my own just fine."

"I don't doubt that for a second," he said, chuckling. Evelyn laughed with him. For a moment, she forgot there were other people at the table, until she heard Paul and Lenny snickering. Jake heard it, too, and started rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, I just wanted to drop by real quick and tell you how much I love the new posters, Evelyn. I had no idea you liked _Star Wars_."

"Oh, I don't," Evelyn admitted. Paul had forced her to watch all three movies over summer break, but they weren't really her taste. "Actually, the whole concept was Paul's idea. I just went along with it."

"I see." Jake sounded a little bummed. "Well, nice work, man."

Paul nodded. "Thank you, Mr. President."

Evelyn kicked him under the table.

"Anyway," Jake went on, "I heard you were at Liz's on Friday. You know, it's funny, I was thinking about heading over there myself, but I had a college tour the next morning, so I didn't bother. Kinda sucks, though. Woulda been nice to see you outside of school for a change."

"Yeah, for sure," Evelyn said. "I was actually hoping to see you there."

He stood up a little taller. "You were?"

"Yeah, I was hoping to work on the skit a little bit, bounce some ideas off you."

At those words, his posture deflated. Evelyn wondered if she'd said something wrong.

"Oh," Jake said. "Well, yeah, we can do that sometime. Are you free after school today? We could meet at the library, if you want, and start working on a script. I'd love to hear your ideas. They're always so great."

Evelyn's eyes sparkled. "That would be amazing!" she gushed, feeling her heart flutter in her chest, but then she remembered something that made her smile disappear in an instant. "I just ... I can't today. I'm sorry, I've got somewhere I need to be."

"Oh ... Well, what about Saturday?"

"Saturday?" she repeated dismally. Of all the days, why did he have to choose Saturday? "Well, I ..."

"Can't, huh?"

Evelyn could hear the resignation in his voice. It was like a knife to her heart. Jake probably thought she was just making up some lame excuse to blow him off. _But that's not it at all_, Evelyn wanted to tell him. _You have no idea how badly I wanna hang out with you, Jake. I just ... can't. _She sighed hopelessly. "I'm really sorry."

Jake gave her a consoling pat on the shoulder before he left. "Hey, that's okay. No big deal. We'll just do it some other time, all right?"

Evelyn nodded and put on a smile, but deep down she knew it would never happen. _Because something always gets in the way. _At this point, she wondered if she was just sabotaging herself on purpose.

She reached for her tray. "Um, I need to go."

"Go?" said Hannah-Beth. "But the lunch period's not even over yet."

"Yeah, I know," Evelyn said in a hurried voice. "I just, uh, I have something I need to do. I'll see you guys later, okay?"

Hannah-Beth was still confused. "Okay, buh—" She raised her hand to wave goodbye, but Evelyn was already at the trash bins, scraping food off her tray with her fork. Then her silverware went into the dishpan, her tray went on top of the stack, and she was gone.

Hannah-Beth sighed. "She's always running off somewhere, isn't she? Must be exhausting." Then to the others, she asked, "Don't you guys think she's pushing herself too hard?"

"Oh, definitely," Paul said, bringing his sandwich back to his mouth, "but that's what Evelyn does. You'll get used to it."

3

Evelyn put both hands on the counter and glared at the school secretary.

"I don't see what the problem is here," she said, an annoyed rumble in her voice. "It's not like I'm asking to view his medical records or anything. I'm just asking for a copy of his schedule. That shouldn't be too hard to provide."

Miss Stoker was being awfully smug as she ate her tuna pasta salad. "I already told you, I can't give out personal information." She skewered a noodle with her fork and slid it into her mouth, fluttering her eyes in a self-amused manner. "Anything else, hun?"

Evelyn exhaled deeply through her nose. "Is Principal Hellyer in his office?"

"He's out having lunch with his wife. Won't be back till one."

The bell rang then, signaling the end of the lunch period. Evelyn's next class, biology, started in less than ten minutes. _So that's how she intends to get rid of me. Just run out the clock and send me on my way. Well, let's see how she handles this. _

Evelyn sat down on one of the chairs and made herself comfortable. "Then I'll just wait for him."

"Oh? Won't Mr. Beecroft be expecting you?"

"I'm sure he will be, but I've found him to be very understanding in situations like this, especially considering all the extra grading I do for him. In fact, now that I think about it, I don't think he'll mind at all." She smiled and tipped her head to one side. "Of course, you could just give me Henry's schedule and save me the trouble. I'd hate to miss such an important class because the school secretary's holding student information hostage, which I'd say is a huge violation of your position."

Her eyes narrowed. "Well, aren't you just a little brat? Fine, sit there all day if you like."

And Evelyn did. She sat on that hard, scantly cushioned chair for forty minutes straight. Of course, it did occur to her (after about fifteen minutes, when her backside started to ache) that she could have simply gone to class and returned later that afternoon, but that would've been too easy. Evelyn was making a point now by sitting there. A peaceful protest of sorts, because she liked the way that sounded in her head.

Miss Stoker couldn't stand it. Her typing was getting more aggressive by the minute, but Evelyn didn't care. Let her get angry. Let her get furious. It wasn't fair for Miss Stoker to discriminate against students like Henry Bowers, ill-behaved as he was. When Evelyn asked for a copy of his schedule, Miss Stoker dismissed her request with a cruel laugh and said she had to be joking.

Well, did it seem like she was joking now?

Principal Hellyer strolled into the front office a little after one o'clock. He must have had a hearty lunch because his suit jacket was left unbuttoned to display a full, round belly that spilled over his belt. He moved to cover it when he saw Evelyn sitting there, smiling sweetly with that persistent twinkle in her brown eyes. She asked how his lovely wife was doing. He said she was doing fine, just fine, and thanked her for asking. The pleasantries ended there.

"Might I ask what you're doing here, Evelyn? You should be in class right now."

"She refuses to leave," Miss Stoker said with a sniff.

That's when Evelyn slowly arose from the chair, her muscles stiff and tight. "I'll gladly leave as soon as I get Henry's schedule, sir. That's all I want."

"Yeah, and she's being a real pain in the ass about it," Miss Stoker piped up again, but Principal Hellyer was quick to quiet her.

"That's enough, Miss Stoker. Thank you."

The secretary let out a huff, spun around in her chair, and then stormed off toward the fax machines.

Evelyn gave the principal a pleading look. "I'm really not trying to be a pain, and I never meant to bother you. It's just, someone needs to bring Henry his assignments before he falls behind. I figure that someone might as well be me."

After all, nobody else would. She had asked Victor Criss, but he flat-out refused, saying it wasn't worth his time. Some friend, right?

The principal seemed to share his sentiment. "Evelyn, you're wasting your time. Henry's not gonna do his assignments even if you bring them to him. Besides, the school board's already scheduled his hearing—"

"For Saturday, I know, but until then, Henry's still a student here, and he has a right to his assignments. You might think it's pointless, but, with all due respect, sir, that's not really any of your business." Evelyn said those words carefully, a nervous smile creeping up her face. She might've been speaking out of turn, but it was too late to go back now. "I'm going to collect his assignments, all of them. Whether or not he does them, well, that's up to him, but ... at least I'll know I did everything I could."

The principal eventually yielded to Evelyn's demands, but in the end it felt less like a victory and more like a cheap consolation prize.

_Hey, I know your efforts were totally in vain, kiddo, but here's a shitty piece of paper to make you feel better. Try and make the best of it. _

That's what Evelyn intended to do as she made the rounds after school, going from class to class and giving the same heartfelt speech to all of Henry's teachers. Their responses were exactly what Evelyn expected: they saw the whole thing as an annoying inconvenience. Henry wasn't going to do the work anyway, so why bother? It was nothing but a waste of time and effort; and they had other students to worry about, ones who actually cared.

Most patient of all was Mrs. Whitwell, who taught ninth- and tenth-grade English. Evelyn thought Mrs. Whitwell was one of Derry's best teachers: calm and compassionate, even with rotten-apples like Henry Bowers.

"I appreciate you doing this," Evelyn said as Mrs. Whitwell wrote out a detailed summary of last week and this week's assignments. "I know you're really busy."

Mrs. Whitwell tipped a smile at her, then resumed her writing. "It's no trouble. Although, I will admit I was a bit surprised by the request. I take it Henry didn't ask you to do this."

"No, he didn't."

"And he probably won't even read this, will he?"

"Probably not," Evelyn said, a shameful blush dusting her cheeks. She lowered her eyes to the floor. "I'm really sorry to waste your time like this. I'll make it up to you, I promise."

Mrs. Whitwell laughed gently. "No need for that. Like I said, it's no trouble. And I'm almost finished here if you don't mind waiting a bit longer. I know you like to keep busy, so if I'm keeping you from something ..."

"No, please, take your time."

Evelyn looked at the brightly-colored bulletin board while she waited. Mrs. Whitwell used the board to post friendly grammar reminders and inspirational quotes from her favorite authors, but its true purpose was to showcase her creative writing students' work. She changed out the display every week with new poems and short stories. One day, Evelyn hoped to see one of Bill Denbrough's stories there. She encouraged him to take the class if his schedule ever allowed it.

"We're doing a horror showcase next month," Mrs. Whitwell said. "I'm planning on holding a little contest, too, just to make things interesting. Scariest story gets a giant bowl of candy. Would do you think?"

"I think that's a great idea."

"I think so, too. Anyway, I'm all finished now." Mrs. Whitwell waved Evelyn back to her desk. She had everything neatly tucked in a buff-colored folder, all ready to go. "In case he asks, which I doubt he will, I've written out all the textbook reading assignments and noted which summary questions need to be answered. He only needs to do the ones I've listed, okay? Ignore all the others. For composition and grammar, I've included some worksheets and this month's writing prompt, and—" She reached into her bottom drawer and pulled out a small paperback novel. "Here's the book we're currently reading: _All Quiet on the Western Front. _We're only on chapter three, so he shouldn't have a hard time catching up."

Evelyn nodded. "I remember reading that last year. It's a good book." She took the folder and the book and thanked Mrs. Whitwell again. "It means a lot, to me at least. Anyway, I'll see you tomorrow."

Mrs. Whitwell stopped her at the door. "For what it's worth," she said, "I don't think Henry should be expelled either."

Evelyn forced a smile. Well-intentioned as that statement may have been, it felt like another worthless consolation prize. Throw it away, she thought. It won't do you any good.

But then, just as she was about to leave, something dawned on her. This was no mere consolation prize. No, this prize came with a tiny glimmer of hope that was too dazzling to ignore.

Evelyn turned back. "Mrs. Whitwell," she said, "I know it's probably too much to ask, but do you think you could write a statement for Henry's hearing? I mean, I'm not naive or anything. I know it's not gonna do much to help his case. They're gonna be dragging out, like, ten years of bad behavior to use against him on Saturday. A little piece of paper won't really stack up, will it?" She laughed bitterly. It hurt her chest a little. "It's just, at this point I'm kind of desperate for anything that might paint Henry in a more positive light, so anything you can give me—a paragraph or even a sentence if that's already too much—would be great."

Mrs. Whitwell smiled. "Sure, Evelyn, I can do that for you."

"Really?" she said, her voice breaking with unrestrained joy. For a second, she thought it was all gonna come bursting out of her out like confetti out of a party popper. "Wow, you have no idea how badly I needed to hear that. Thank you."

"You're welcome. Oh, and Evelyn?"

Evelyn almost dropped everything when she spun back around. "Yes?"

"You should talk to Mr. Wallander, the shop teacher. I know Henry's taken a couple of his classes, so if you're looking for a good character witness, he'd probably be your best bet. I don't think I've ever heard him say a bad word about the kid."

Evelyn's face broke into a grin. "Gotcha. Mr. Wallender. I'll definitely track him down. Thank you, Mrs. Whitwell."

Her fingers fluttered a quick goodbye; then she turned and

4

WHAM!

Jamison Freiborg came running out of the building and rammed into Evelyn from behind. She gasped, catching her balance on the step's edge, but the damage had already been done. The tower of books tumbled out of her arms and clattered, head over tail, down the stairs. Folders whipped open. Papers flew out and scattered everywhere. Jamison stomped a dirty footprint on one of Henry's worksheets as he barreled past her, mumbling an apology under his breath.

Evelyn glared at his back._ Keep your half-assed apology_, she thought, dropping her backpack on the step._ If you were really sorry, you'd help me. Asshole._

She bent down to pick everything up, starting with the books, which she piled neatly off to the side. Then she moved onto the papers, dusting them off and reorganizing them as best as she could before returning them to their proper folders. She cut her finger on one of the sheets and hissed between her teeth.

"Yikes," someone said behind her. "Homework massacre."

In mid-reach, Evelyn turned her head and saw Belch Huggins standing at the bottom of the stairs, a small bundle of books clutched loosely at his side. She expected him to just keep walking (if he was with the rest of the guys, he certainly would have—or done worse), so she was pleasantly surprised to see him bending down to pick up the papers around him. He was doing it mindfully, too, careful not to wrinkle or rip them. He even wiped off some of the dirt before handing them back to her.

"Thanks," Evelyn said, and she slid them back into the folder.

He went to grab another sheet. "You ask for extra homework or something, Tozier?"

He'd meant it as a joke, she assumed, but Evelyn didn't get it. Did she really seem like the type to ask for extra homework? She liked school, sure, but certainly not that much.

She shrugged it off. "They're mostly Henry's. Figured he should at least try to get caught up."

"Oh," Belch said, almost swallowing the word. "Well, that was nice of you."

"Yeah. Can you hand me those, please?"

She was pointing at the papers in his blind spot, the last of the bunch. Belch snatched them up quickly and passed them over to her. She thanked him again, but in a distracted sort of way, and started quickly reforming her stack for the long walk home. When she picked it up, the damned thing was so tall it went up to her nose.

Belch gave his head a shake. "You sure you can manage that all right?"

"Yeah," Evelyn said, wincing a little as she struggled to find the right grip. "The backpack acts as a counterweight, so I shouldn't fall over or anything."

He nodded absently, not even half believing her.

Evelyn teeter-tottered past him for a couple feet, then stopped. "Unless ..." She turned around and stared at him for a moment before shaking her head. "Never mind."

"What is it?" Belch asked, though he already had a pretty good hunch about what it was. He was planning to offer it anyway because he couldn't in good conscience let the girl walk home with that many heavy books. His mother had raised him better than that.

Evelyn winced again. "I was just thinking—well, actually, I was_ hoping_ that you might be able to give me a ride to Henry's. I was gonna ride my bike there, but I'm thinking now that might not be too smart."

"Yeah," said Belch. That wasn't smart at all. In fact, it was downright stupid. "I can give you a lift. We gotta wait for Vic, though."

"That's fine," Evelyn said, perking up instantly. "I'm in no hurry."

Belch nodded again, then started coming toward her. "Well, here, let me take these before your arms give out." He grabbed half the stack from her, the bigger half, and added it to his own pile, managing the extra weight with ease. "We can always throw these in the trunk or ..."

A cold feeling passed between them. Belch didn't notice it at first, but then he saw Evelyn pull away all of a sudden, an uncomfortable expression creasing her face.

"Oh," Belch whispered, realizing his mistake. "Right, sorry, not the trunk." _Idiot. _He scratched underneath his cap, thinking. "Umm, how 'bout we just toss them in the back, then?"

Evelyn cracked a small smile and nodded.

Victor Criss came out a couple minutes later, empty-handed and eager to head home. His steps slowed when he saw Evelyn standing by the car with his friend, and he asked without saying a word, _What's going on?_

"We gotta make an extra stop before heading to your place," Belch said. "She wants to drop off Henry's homework."

Vic looked at Evelyn, squinting like the sun had gotten into his eyes, and drew away from them. "You two go ahead, then. I'll just walk home."

"What?" said Belch. "You're gonna walk?"

"Yeah, I gotta get home before my mom chews my ear off. Anyway, you two go on ahead. Don't worry about me."

Belch shrugged. "Well, okay. See ya, man."

Vic nodded (in that lazy, uncaring way that he always did) and shoved his hands in the deep pockets of his jacket. Belch went around to the driver's side and opened his door. Evelyn moved to do the same, but then she felt Vic brush past her all of a sudden, bumping her shoulder with his.

With a half-hidden smirk, he said, "Tell Henry I said hi."

5

The long ride to the Bowers farm was filled with shy, awkward glances and unbearable silences that seemed to stretch out further than the road itself. It hadn't started out that way, though. When Evelyn first got into the car, Belch made a rather funny observation about her seatbelt or, more specifically, the fact that she was wearing one at all.

"You know," he said, "I think you might be the first person to actually wear that thing."

As he thought about it now, it wasn't terribly funny (not even a little bit), but Evelyn was generous enough to laugh when he said it. It was a light, effortless giggle that immediately made Belch feel at ease.

And perhaps that was the problem; perhaps Belch just got a little too comfortable, because right after that was when he put his foot in his mouth and ruined everything.

"Hey, Evelyn," he said, "I'm awfully sorry about what happened back then. You know, all that stuff with your brother? I swear, it wasn't supposed to go that far." They were gonna rough him up a little, sure, but far as he knew that was it. "Henry just, he wasn't right that day. You know he wouldn't have done it otherwise. He just wasn't thinking clearly, and Patrick, he kept—"

Evelyn cut him off. "Please," she said tiredly. "Can we not talk about that right now? I appreciate your apology and everything, I do, but I just ... I can't talk about that, not here. It doesn't feel right."

Belch understood what she meant, and he felt guilty for bringing it up. "Sure. Sorry."

And he said nothing more after that.

Their silence continued until they reached the intersection of Kansas and West Broadway. Belch stopped at the sign and waited for a couple of little kids to cross the street. That's when he stole a glance at Evelyn and saw her watching the kids with a peaceful smile on her face. Once they were safely across, she turned toward him and said, "Thank you, by the way, for taking me home the other night. It was really nice of you, Reggie."

It always made Belch smile a little when someone used his actual name.

"Sure, no problem," he said, feeling shy all of a sudden. He put his foot back on the gas, and the car rolled on. "It was a good thing we stumbled upon you when we did, though. I could have easily turned around and missed you."

"What do you mean?" Evelyn asked. "I thought you were taking Vic home."

"Hmm? No, we were out looking for Henry."

"Henry?" She leaned forward, pushing against the seatbelt. "What happened to Henry?"

"Eh, nothing, really. He just got drunk and kinda wandered off. We actually thought he might go looking for you, so ..." He cleared his throat, thinking he may have already said too much. "Anyway, he's fine. He slept it off at Vic's house."

Evelyn sucked in a quiet breath.

"Did he now?" Her mouth opened like she was about to laugh; then she fell back into her seat, seeming amused and irritated all at the same time. "That lying bastard. No wonder he didn't wanna get in the car."

Belch knew who she was talking about, but he thought it best not to get involved.

"Hey, you mind if I put on the radio?"

"Sure, go ahead."

"Cool." He switched on the radio and turned up the volume when he heard his favorite song playing. "You listen to Metallica at all?"

"No."

"Oh. Well, I like 'em a lot."

"Yeah, I can tell."

"Really? How's that?"

"Because of your shirt."

Belch looked down at his shirt and blushed. "Oh, right."

6

Further down Kansas Street (further than most ever needed to go), the Derry townscape gave way to soft, rolling hills, dirt roads, and miles and miles of pasture.

The Bowers farm was situated on a small spread of land off Route 2, near the Newport town line. Evelyn felt her heart speed up as Belch turned off the main road and drove slowly down a long bend of dirt and gravel. The house stood at the end of it, surrounded by overgrown bushes and trees. It was an old farmhouse with white wooden siding, a large front porch, and a tall chimney stack that jutted out from the roof. Good bones, you might say, but it had already begun to show its age. The paint was chipped, the wood had started to wither, and the lawn was overrun with rocks and weeds.

But, she had to admit, it wasn't as bad as she thought it would be. In a certain light, it was actually quite charming.

"You've never been here before, huh?" said Belch, and Evelyn realized she had been staring at the house for way too long.

"You nervous?"

"No," Evelyn said, but her mouth felt dry when she swallowed and her palms had begun to dampen. She wiped them off on her jeans and told herself to calm down. After all, it was just a house.

Belch saw her fidgeting. "I can just drop them off if you want. Really, I don't mind."

"No," Evelyn said. "I can do it."

She wanted to do it.

Evelyn gathered up everything and stepped out of the car, promising to return soon. Outside, it was calm and quiet, the kind of quiet that made you feel like the only person in the world. At first, it was peaceful, but then, the longer Evelyn stood there, hearing nothing but the wind and the distant birds, it started to feel a little lonely.

Belch stuck his head out the window, startling Evelyn when he hollered, "What're you scared or something?" He made a shooing motion with his hand. "Go on."

So Evelyn did.

She climbed up the porch slowly, avoiding the rotted areas with her feet. Waiting at the top was a white aluminum screen door with ripped mesh paneling. It was the only thing that now stood between Evelyn and the darkened entryway of the Bowers house.

She rang the doorbell and peered inside, seeing vague shapes of living room furniture and a short hallway that led straight into the kitchen. Evelyn craned her neck, wanting to see more, but then she heard a loud scuffling sound coming from upstairs. It began above her head, then moved further away, heading towards the back of the house. Feet thumped. Stairs creaked. In the kitchen, a chair groaned against the floor, and then Henry Bowers came around the corner, stopping in the middle of the hallway.

"Hi," Evelyn uttered out of habit. She raised her hand in a quick wave.

Henry leaned forward a little, like he was struggling to see, then came toward her and pushed open the screen door.

Evelyn staggered back. The first thing she noticed was the bright red line of a scratch on Henry's left cheek, and once she noticed it, that was all she could see. The skin around it carried a faint reddish-purple hue that looked painful and tender.

"Your face," she said, wanting to reach up and touch it. In the past, she probably would have gotten away with it, but now he would have surely slapped her hand away.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Nothing," he said, sounding irritated. "What are you doing here, Evelyn?"

She looked away from the cut and back into his eyes. The leaning tower of school materials should have spoken for itself, but since it didn't, she said, "I got your assignments for you, last week's and this week's. Reggie was even nice enough to give me a ride."

"Huh?" For a second, that name was unfamiliar to him. He stuck his head through the doorway and saw Belch's car in the driveway. His friend gave a lazy wave.

"Fuckin' figures." Henry made a low hissing sound deep in his throat and then went back inside.

Evelyn didn't hesitate to follow.

Inside, the house was stuffy and smelled of cigarette smoke. Used ashtrays and old beer bottles stood like fine sculptures on every flat surface, leaving little room for anything else. Evelyn looked around, feeling overwhelmed by them all.

"Umm, where should I put these?" she asked. "My arms are getting tired."

"Just put 'em anywhere," Henry said, so Evelyn put them on the sofa.

Then she glanced around the room curiously, taking it all in. "So this is your house, huh? You know, it's bigger than I imagined it would be." When people talked about it at school, they made it sound like some run-down shack in the middle of nowhere. "But I like it. It's kinda cozy."

Henry grunted like he didn't believe her, but Evelyn meant every word. Despite all the beer bottles and ashtrays (and the random weight bench in the middle of the room, which caught Evelyn by surprise), the house felt comfortable and warm. It was an old feeling, though, dusty and ghostly, as if the house itself was haunted by a pleasant memory.

All of his mother's things were still there: pictures, knickknacks, tiny glass figurines. She hadn't bothered to come back for any of them. Maybe that was why Henry looked so uncomfortable. Or maybe he just wanted Evelyn to hurry up and leave.

"I managed to get most of your homework," she said. "There's still a math quiz you'll have to make up when you get back, but that shouldn't be too hard. I got your books out of your locker, too, but I couldn't find your English book anywhere. Do you know where that is? Maybe you left it in your room or ..."

Henry shrugged uncaringly.

"Well, you'll need that to do your work."

"Who says I'm gonna do my work?"

"I do," Evelyn said, making him roll his eyes, "because, you know what, it's a good gesture, Henry. It shows the school that you're actually willing to make a real effort."

He let out a groan. "It doesn't matter, Ev."

"Of course it does."

"No, it doesn't!" he shouted, slamming his fist back against the wall. "None of it fuckin' matters! They're gonna kick me out no matter what I do!"

"_You don't know that!_" Evelyn yelled back, way more loudly than she should have, but she couldn't help it. "I'm so, so tired ... If you knew half the shit I went through today, ..."

She hung her head, realizing he wouldn't care. "Please, just stop fighting me on this, okay? I can fix this if you let me."

By then, Henry's anger had subsided. He slumped against the wall and laid his head against it. "Why are you doing all this, Ev?"

"I dunno," she said weakly._ Guilt, mostly, but you already know that. I figure if I do this, maybe things can actually go back to normal between us. And if not, then—oh well—I guess I'll finally be able to move on with my life. One way or another, at least it'll be over. _

More than anything, she just wanted it to be over.

She turned to leave. "Anyway, I should go." It wasn't fair to keep Reggie waiting outside forever. The poor guy was probably bored out of his mind. "I'll see you on Saturday, okay?"

"Don't bother," said Henry, and Evelyn stopped in front of the door, frozen in disbelief.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't want you there," he said; this time, his tone was firm and final.

"Yeah, but why? Because of all the shit that's gonna come out? Who cares? It's not like I haven't heard it all before, Henry."

"Look, I just don't want you there, okay? I won't be able to focus if you're there."

"I'll just be a distraction?"

"Yeah," he said, "something like that."

Evelyn swallowed hard but forced herself to nod. "Well, okay ... Umm, I guess I'll just turn in my statement to Principal Hellyer, then. I was planning on typing it out anyway, so, yeah, I guess that works, too." She put her hand on the handle, twisted, and pushed. "See ya, Henry."

That night, after dinner was done and all the dishes were cleaned, Evelyn made a phonecall to Jake Newham.

"Hey, sorry to call you so late. I just wanted to talk to you about Saturday ... Did you still wanna get together? Because I'm totally free now."

* * *

**I'm so sorry this chapter took me so long. It wasn't for lack of effort, though. I was working on it every day, but it just wasn't coming together like I hoped it would. I'm still not completely satisfied with it. **

**Anyway, the next chapter will be a lot better. Thanks for reading! **


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